I saw a man skin a rabbit Blood on the lino, guts in the cat Beating the eyes out of fishes Cutting their spines out with a knife
And all my cupboards are full of flesh Brains and gizzards pickled in jars And now my house smells of death Hung up the hooks and knives of the hunters
He had two lines down in the lake Brought my mother stolen trout He hit a pheasant with his right tyre Brought it home for Sunday lunchTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
