Archive - Wednesday, 7 January 2004


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The Fox

The time has just turned half past four

A fox has run from the old barn door,

hung from his mouth a hen I see

taking it home for his family.

Off at the trot I look inside,

there isn't a bird that's been left alive,

left on his own he has slaughtered the lot,

even the scraggy one marked for the pot.

Out in broad daylight he's doing his rounds,

nothing to fear if we have no more hounds,

how can we keep free range hens on the grass

we'll have to enclose them in concrete and glass.

But your days are now numbered,

I have got me a gun,

so soon it will be your corpse

that's laid out in the sun.

Updated: 11:32 Wednesday, January 07, 2004




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