Son of a poacher man
Crawling, trespassing
Stealing my game
I can see him fleeing
Away just the same

He caught my deer
Territorial invasion
Quick to appear
Without hesitation
And came far too near
I’m getting ready to face him

Strike back at this man
I have spies alligned
Scouts reporting
From every corner
Yet I feel resigned

I don’t trust my own men
They fail me time and again
The poacher escaped them
Brought game back to his den
Hoping to keep what he has stolen