Prize

His head adorns a mantelpiece
A showoff to the friends
A dusty rug was omce his fleece
His mighty existence ends.

A British ruler bagged him
While hunting in Nepal
It was a rifle that shot him
That caused him to fall

CHORUS

His now vapid snarling frown
Resting on the wall
Placed as if it were a crown
His listless eyes appal

His glossy stripey shiny pelt
Skinned and gath'ring dust
Once fierce but it was soft as felt
Is this really a must!?
-----These animals are burning out
As William Blake once said
Our symbol of majesty 'bout
To be perm'nently dead.

His hautê-couture of orange stripes
Gone from its jungle den
Of its land of forest wooden pipes
Disappeared from the fen

As a man, it's really a shame
That this day did ever come
Mother Earth is cursing our name
Why've we been so dumb?!

CHORUS