The poacher.

The poacher

Out of the car and open the boot,
Load up the gun, ready to shoot.
Climb through the hedge into the field,
Barbed wire and brambles I quickly feel.

Crawl on my knees and then on my belly,
Wind up laying in something smelly.
No sign of anything worth a shot,
But I want something to put in the pot.

At the top of the hill, a herd of cows,
One looks angry, with a ring in it's nose.
It takes a pace forward, I turn and run,
Back down the hill, this ain't much fun.

Through the hedge, get caught on the wire,
It tears my arse so I think it's on fire.
The bull stands panting then turns with a snort,
At least his mission I've made him abort.

Drive a bit further and find a new place,
A place with no bull for me to race.
Round the corner and get out again,
Sod it, now it's started to pour with rain.

Walk through the gate and leave it ajar,
If anyone comes, I can run back to the car.
Stare at the hillside, covered in rain,
I'm beggining to think that this is a pain.

Crawl up the field, mind the cow pat,
But roll in some dollops, round and fat.
Steaming away in the wet cold air,
Some of it seems to be stuck in my hair.

Rise to my knees and look around,
At last, a rabbit, furry fat and brown.
Lift up the gun and take a sight,
Rainfall so heavy, it hides the light.

Pull back the hammer, It makes a loud click,
Rabbit does a runner, I feel sick.
Crawl along further and look again,
Freezing and wet in the pouring rain.

Ah! there's another, on the side of the hill,
A shudder goes through me, I'm catching a chill.
Lift up the gun and rise to my knees,
Then let rip with a hell of a sneeze.
Rabbit takes off down a warren of old,
And I'm coming down with a stinking cold.

Keep on hunting for another hour,
Smelly and wet and feeling sour.
Then call it a day and turn to go home,
I'll leave the fields for the rabbits to roam.
Back to the car, surrounded by sheep?
If I try to count this lot, I'll fall asleep.
Open the boot and toss in the gun,
Being a poacher, it ain't much fun.

Into the car and drive back to town,
Bugger it's painful when I sit down.
Go to a butcher, give him five pound,
He must think I'm rich, the robbin' hound
Gives me a rabbit and not much change,
To take home and cook, on the range.

Go to the doctors to sew up me bum,
Then to the pub for a hot tot of rum.
Brag about the rabbit, sounding so proud,
Saying where I got it, ain't allowed.

Take it and cook and have it to eat,
Have to be careful when I take a seat.
Look at the gun then put it away,
It can rust in the cupboard for the rest of it's days.
From now on, it's the shops where i'll buy me food,
'Cos when it comes to poaching, I ain't i the mood.