The man on the ground
\nthe hunter, the trapper
\nhe lays his traps
\nhe may not look dapper
\nclad in his furs
\nand his boots
\nwell who knows
\nhe won’t be a man
\nconverted to prose<\/p>\n
he skulks out at night
\nand he knows the lay
\nof the land where the wild one’s walk
\nnight and day
\nhe is close to it all
\nbut a murderer still
\ntorturing wild souls
\ntheir blood he will spill<\/p>\n
he may have to slaughter them
\nif they’re still alive
\nnot much at all
\nwill therefore survive
\na boot in the guts
\nor a knife in the head
\nwhatever you do
\nhe is profit led<\/p>\n
he won’t get a lot
\nso he needs to kill more
\nits all about death
\nand fcuk Natural Law<\/p>\n
The hunter well they are
\nout there for their sport
\nand gratification
\nof the sexual sort
\narmed to the teeth
\nin their camouflage gear
\njust out for blood
\nthey make that quite clear<\/p>\n
some are the trophy mob
\nthe lowest of low
\nhand over the money
\nand the animals flow
\nby, its orchestrated
\nits done in a pen
\nguaranteed hunting
\nyou tell us when
\nagain if there’s skins
\nthen these are the men<\/p>\n
farmers of wild folk
\ncamps for the cruel
\nterrible conditions
\nthat would appal
\nanyone looking
\nso they tend to be
\nout in the sticks
\nwhere no one can see<\/p>\n
and the city folk care not
\nthey dont hear the cries
\nthey dont feel the pain
\nthats about the size
\ninsanity rules
\ncaged up till they die
\ninjured and bored
\nand most commonly lie
\nthat very thin wire
\nits cuts into their feet
\nits a terrible prison
\nwhich has to unseat
\ntheir souls
\nby the time they are killed
\nthey dont care
\nan electric prod
\nup their anus they share<\/p>\n
bite down on this mate
\nand you get the shock
\nand soon of course
\nthey are as stiff as a rock
\nother alive to the skinners
\nthey go
\nin outside markets
\ntheir sold and they know
\nhung up on big hooks
\nand their skin is ripped off
\nimagine the pain of that
\nI hear, some scoff<\/p>\n
scoff if you will
\nthe blood that they spill
\negregious pain again and again
\nthe pelt goes one way
\nthe body another
\nmother perhaps
\nwith a sister
\nor brother
\nbleed out in heaps
\noften in hot sun
\nthat when you know
\nyour fucking days done<\/p>\n
and whats it all for
\nfor some spotty whore
\nsome hag of bag
\nwho the world would ignore
\ntill she puts on the skins
\nof dead animals and she
\nthinks she is lovely
\nshe is grotesquely<\/p>\n
those of your out there
\ndesigners of fur
\nand shops who think its right
\nwe better confer
\nits a miserable business
\nwith oodles of pain
\nand it isnt fair
\nthat you lot would gain<\/p>\n
profit from killing
\nfrom murder from maiming
\nanimals go mad
\nits not that I’m blaming
\nyou if you’d think
\nwhat you are doing
\nthen you
\nwant stop it at once
\nthat is my view<\/p>\n
you are being clueless
\nheartless and cold
\nletting the fur trade
\ncount piles of gold
\nwhilst you do the dirty side
\nyou take the rap
\nthe take the accolades
\nyou eat their crap<\/p>\n
I feel for the animals
\nthey are the ones
\nwho suffer so much
\nthe agony stuns
\nany who think about it
\nand they know
\ndealing in fur
\nbring a great share of woe<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The man on the ground the hunter, the trapper he lays his traps he may not look dapper clad in his furs and his boots well who knows he won’t be a man converted to prose he skulks out at … Continue reading