Boxing Day

Henry Hooray Huntingdon Hunter
Pretends to no one it’s a trail hunt
With his pinks and his horse and his Boxing Day booze
He’s got the horn for a bit of sport
“I say, fine day” for folk of his sort

Julia Hooray Huntingdon Hunter
Would rather be a supporter
Her and her daughter
4×4 around
Checking out the hounds
And the horseback clowns

Terry the terrierman
Keeps his dogs in a box
Next to shovels and spades
Used to dig out a fox
King of the quad bike
A doffer of caps
Not the nicest of chaps

Sebastian, field secretary
The collector of subs
From the killers of foxes
And murderers of cubs
Rides at the rear
Prefers the hilltop scene
Likes to imagine that his hands are clean

Walter whips-in
For Henry Hooray Huntsman
Summoned to trouble shoot
By Henry Hooray’s horn
He’s paid to spot foxes
He’s paid to control hounds
To keep them out of the neighbours’
Gardens and grounds
But when called to explain
A fox ripped limb from limb
It was never anything to do with him

Inspector Carl Copper
See nothing wrong here
A country pursuit
That the locals hold dear
If there’s a breach of the peace
It’s not that of the fox’s
And he’ll brook no disruption
Or interruption
Of Henry Hooray Huntingdon Hunter’s day out
Today or any other day
He’ll just say “go away”

The hunt saboteur
Recognises them all
Julia Follower
Henry Hooray’s hunting call
Terry the terrierman
With his dogs in a box
Walter whipping-in
Denying chasing a fox
Sebastian the secretary
Who never gets near
And Inspector Ineffective
Who will see nothing here

So when you’ve finished the tofurkey
Tucked the last mince pie away
The sabs will still have work to do
On Boxing Day