Bad, bad taxidermy
Bad, bad taxidermy
I’ve got a guilty pleasure:
It’s not something I can measure
The euphoria that floods me when I see
A twisted little face
In a dusty little case
With its glassy little eyes looking at me.
There’s a special kind of thrill’ll
Hit my senses when a squirrel
Looking nothing like it did when flesh and blood
Catches hold of my attention
Cause I think that I should mention
That I think bad taxidermy’s really good.
Bad, bad taxidermy
Bad, bad taxidermy
When the rabbit or the pheasant
Looks all natural and pleasant,
Just like it could be alive, it’s not as fun
In fact it’s quite depressing
When you find you’re second guessing:
“Is that dead or is it gonna jump and run?”
But a beast with staring eyes
Or with teeth a funny size
Brings a joy I don’t find easy to explain.
Although they would not have chosen
To be permanently frozen
Into awkwardness, at least there is no pain.
Bad, bad taxidermy
Bad, bad taxidermy
I am not a fan of hunts,
When a bunch of nobby cunts
Chase a fox around then tear it into shreds
But my heart is sort of brimming
Up with love for men and women
Who fill animals with sand in little sheds.
Do they feel a certain duty,
When they’re faced with nature’s beauty,
To preserve it lovingly for all to see?
“I really like that fox
So I will put it in a box
Looking weird and stilted for posterity”
Bad, bad taxidermy
Bad, bad taxidermy
I’ve a friend who’s got a badger
And he looks a proper radge, a
Fearsome beast who glares, cross-eyedly from the shelf.
If we could go back in time
And present it with this crime,
I don’t think that it would recognise itself.
But why not come and dally
In the old uncanny valley?
Bad stuffed animals are there for you to see ‘em
If you need a place to start
With this undervalued art
Tom Juniper Poetry 