Snuffed out with a single shot
\nNot consigned to any plot
\nOf rest not us, we are worthless too
\nThe hunter man or someone like you<\/p>\n
As families we do enjoy life
\nWe suffer pain and lots of strife
\nNocturnal thats our means to be
\nAlive and kicking naturally<\/p>\n
But true blue toffs have their belief
\nThey label us pests and give us grief
\nThey kill and maim our children too
\nThat is what all hunters do<\/p>\n
They dress up in their haughty strip
\nBlood red coats cling to the hip
\nJodhpur trousers again worn tight
\nGuts and bellies full by right<\/p>\n
Full of other animals who
\nStretch the stitches as they do
\nWho are raised to kill and raised to be
\nPie materials actually<\/p>\n
Traditionalists of hunting class
\nLooking down on the working class
\nWho might have a rented house close by
\nAnd a pet or two who can also die<\/p>\n
judged as workers thats at best
\nBut obviously they too invest
\nIn a family but misjudged by those
\nHunter men I do suppose<\/p>\n
They have the right to do whatever
\nDress and hunt for they are clever
\nThey are Barons they are squires
\nMagistrates, police chiefs whose fires<\/p>\n
Whose stations set
\nAll men of class
\nNo matter how much of a farce
\nThey are the citizens, its their way
\nAnd the likes of us we have to pay<\/p>\n
A fox is wild 4 legs a tail
\nWith his handsome brush wow he can sail
\nAcross the forest he can run
\nAnd like every creature enjoy the sun<\/p>\n
But he is a night boy so in tune
\nWith the tawny owl and the lemon moon
\nHis eye sight and his rapid breath
\nMuch more akin to life than death<\/p>\n
And he is a wild boy put here for
\nThe hunter and now there are loads more
\nOperating horse and hound
\nTally ho we know the sound<\/p>\n
And the government some of them will say
\nTo hunt is a privilege where all must pay
\nFor they are the pipers they are all heart
\nTanked up on their schooners from the start<\/p>\n
Whips and vengeance in their hand
\nOn their thoroughbreds ride the land
\nThe land we all are supposed to share
\nBut they believe it is theirs, aware<\/p>\n
The wind can bite the rain can fall
\nThe sun can burn the moon can cool
\nWe are the worthless tribes en masse
\nWhilst they are the hunters full of gas<\/p>\n
Who wink at their ladies
\nAnd whip their mare
\nWho run us down in the morning air
\nPut the fright up us
\nYes they do
\nWith the clattering hooves
\nAnd their hound dogs who<\/p>\n
Who must keep up who must know the ropes
\nAll 35 they too have hopes
\nOf catching us and making sure
\nFor the hunters love the blood and gore<\/p>\n
When their ladies are startled
\nThe adrenaline rush
\nWhen they see
\nthe glint of our crimson brush<\/p>\n
Startled of course but ready to run
\nOr dug out of the earth and dispatched by a gun
\nThe british people are concrete clad
\nWho drive tin cars and were clearly had<\/p>\n
A long time ago by the ruling class
\nWith their fucking great mansions
\nAnd matching arse<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Snuffed out with a single shot Not consigned to any plot Of rest not us, we are worthless too The hunter man or someone like you As families we do enjoy life We suffer pain and lots of strife Nocturnal … Continue reading