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Master Of The Hunt



For Debbie Pullen, magnificent musician whose singing gives us all so much pleasure, on recognition of her brave stand against a mounted horde of ............!!!


Master Of The Hunt

He's the Master of the Hounds
And he's a jolly decent sort
Admired and respected by
The followers of his sport.
He rides to hounds in scarlet
A glorious sight they say
Holding high his head
Every single hunting day.
He thought he was John Peel
As he sat there on his 'oss
This Master of Foxhounds
More than just a little cross
Because he and his cronies
Didn't want to wait
And so he ordered me
To open up the gate
For he and his horde
To ride on through
But that's not the sort of thing
That I readily do.
So oh dear,
To my disgrace
I chained it tight shut
Right there in his face
Suggesting they found
Alternative ways around.
And I left them there
In anger and despair
At being so ignored
By this spunky young lass
So obviously not
Of the proper class.
He's got his mounted fellows
And his yapping snapping pack
And he really doesn't like it
When somebody answers back;
He's the Master of Foxhounds
Stuck way back in the past
Where one could give the peasants
A disdainful verbal blast.







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