They came to seize old Buster, for his crimes were grave, you see,
He’d munched upon a rasher and had barked at tyranny.
A beast unfit for modern times, a relic of the past,
And so, by law, his kind must go, this meal would be his last.
The coppers stormed the garden gate, their warrants firm in hand,
“For peace,” they cried, “this cur must die, his porkish tastes are banned!”
Yet in the streets, a preacher roared, his sermon laced with hate,
But none dare touch his holy wrath, no law would seal his fate.
Oh Britain, land of muddled laws, where traitors lead the blind,
Where bacon’s banned and speech is chained to soothe the foreign mind.
Your fathers tamed an empire vast, but now your pride is gone,
You cower low, lest one should say your dinner gave them wrong!
(By John Shenton)