Fictional Hunting Machine
Rows and rows of teeth
As sharp as a razor blade
Laying by the river bank
Waiting for his prey
Along comes his prey
With no sense of fear
The hunter takes his chance
And bites off his ear
He's the hunting machine
King of his land
He takes opportunities
That falls in his hand
He's the hunting machine
An ancient dinosaur
One thing you don't want
Sitting by your door
As night turns to day
He lays in the baking sun
Building up his energy
And thinking about his tum
A sorry soul comes along
As blind as night can be
Has no chance to take a breath
And the hunter has his tea
