The glorious 12th is upon us
with it’s filthy tradition upheld
the rifles and stocks of the tweed suited toffs
can be seen thru the gunpowder smells.
The lingering lust and it’s folly
can be found in the sound of huzzah
I’ve bagged me a brace though I don’t like the taste
of the grouse that we fight in this war.
Misnomers upon us as ever
there is game to be shot and destroyed
on the glorious 12th we will celebrate wealth
as the rich come unhitched with their toys.
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