BLOOD HOUND

[Cropduster]

BLOOD HOUND

Come at me, you bastards
you bankers, you whores.
Come take what I've worked for
and just make it yours.
Then go drink your fill
while the sweat from my pores
tries to water my crops and my grain.

Come bleed dry my savings
that's squirreled away.
The money aside
for that one rainy day
when farmers get down
on their knees, and they pray
to wash clean their troubles and pain.

Yet you, with so much as
the stroke of your pen,
see families foreclose
on their pastoral land
they fought for so long and
so hard to defend
to feed all your neighbours and kin

So next time you gather
your family around
for your Sunday roast
yet no food can be found
go serve up your cheque book
you money blood hound
and tell them to just go dig in.

Copyright (c) Allan Cropper April 2016