I am the humble Wildebeest -
Mother Natures moving feast.
My mother warned “Don’t wander off
or you’ll end up a Lion’s scoff”.
Some folk call me a Gnu,
I’ve heard it all, there’s nothing new
In puns that you may decide to frame
around this inauspicious name.
I guess I’ll never have a life
of family bliss with kids and wife,
cause every date, before I meet her,
some ruddy leopard tries to eat her.
There’s really nothing that is meaner
than losing your fiancé to a spotted hyena.
I’m telling you lads – you should have seen her
they picked her before a speedy zebra.
Every time I see that chap
from off the telly – spouting crap
about the predators and prey
I feel I have to shout up “Hey,
instead of filming all this slaughter
I really think you really ought to
spare a thought for we poor Bovidae -
getting chewed on every day”
His name is Attenborough I think
and when he turns up there’s no time to think -
we all rush off and hide in long grass
and hope the TV crews will pass
and film something about baboons
and how they all use twigs as spoons.
But no – they’re just here for the cull
and won’t leave till that lion’s full.
So every year we all migrate,
trying to avoid our inevitable fate -
a takeaway for a big cat
“Would you like some antelope with that”?
I’m telling you I’ve had enough
of being classified as basic foodstuff.
It’s a pain in the arse at the very least
being a fucking Wildebeest!