On Boxing day
Young William stood
His belly still full
of Christmas pud

He stood for hours in the cold
Obeying the royal ways of old

With gun in hand
Aimed at the sky
He pulls the trigger
And feathers fly.

He sees the pheasants
Fall and die
His ears are deaf
To the protestors cry.

He is the future king, they say
Who will be set on high
But from a young impressionable boy
He has been taught a poisoned lie.

From early on
He has been fed
A diet of hounds and traps
And the blood they shed.

And made to wear
The ebony mask
And learnt to love
This hateful task.

He cannot see
That shooting game
Will bring him
Much disgrace and shame.

Protestors cry
As each bird falls
For this cruel sport
You need no balls.

You aim your gun
Straight at the bird
And take no heed
Of the scream you heard.

The cry of consciousness in you
Is drowned out by the blood you drew
For scarlet does the river run
It passes through both father and son.

For both enjoy
their evil fun
Saying, "we must continue
what we've begun".

Just one day after
Christmas time
The royals commit
Their annual crime.

Every year
It's well rehearsed
No wonder some say
The royals are cursed.

Of do's and dont's
They're so well versed
It's time their behaviour
Was reversed.

It's time they stopped
their brutal ways
Or their time as royals
will be numbered days.

It's time to stop
Your foolish ways
You hypocrites
That say you pray

To Jesus
High up in the sky
The same sky
Where the pheasants fly.

For everything you kill
For pleasure
Every bloody deed
You do for leisure

Every fox that's chased
By horse and hound
Means the future king
Will wear a blood red crown.