Blood Spurts

Huntin’ Shootin’ Fishin’
Stickin’ the knife in
Watchin’ the blood drip
It’s better than drugs old boy
A gore-spattered, 12-bore-battered
Mashed and mangled psycho trip
Grippin’ a rabbit’s neck between the teeth
Squeezin’ ’till the eyes go Pop!
He loves to kill our furry friends
But. . . what about the dole-queue lot?
The scroungin’ whinin’ commie mobs?
‘Much more fun pottin’ reds
Than pumpin’ rabbits full of lead
The queers and scroungers don’t answer back
When freshly-stuffed on wooden plaques
Wouldn’t give it a second thought
Class warfare –
Britain’s National Sport.’

Seething Wells

From Another Day, Another Word, first issue, 1982



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