Looking at the bloody mess they have made
It makes my blood boil with such great hate
They come nightly and make their bloody raid
Leaving feathers scattered around the gate
I shoot and shoot but they always return
I should put a bullet in their head
Then I saw their cubs peeking through the fern
Starving and waiting for at least some bread
Why should they be any of my concern?
It is my fault those wolves are under fed
Their skin has been shrink-wrapped around their bones
Watching them makes my heart painfully burn
I will leave out at least some chicken heads
In hopes to help subdue their painful groans