The Lonesome Death of Cecil the Lion

Walter James Palmer killed Cecil the lion

He was shot with an arrow and then killed with a rifle

By a rich man who'd travelled in search of a trophy

And who'd paid fifty thousand to the men who would help him

Kill the lion in the woods who was then un-suspectin'

So he laid there in wait, in a jeep filled with petrol

But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears

Take the rag away from your face

Now ain't the time for your tears

Walter James Palmer was a proud big game hunter

Who for years had been killin' all the best of God's creatures

Ever hiding behind the false strength of great weapons

And the moral command of a license and a permit

Would end the great beasts with a flick of his finger

And then show off his pride in the back of a picture

Stiff grin on his face, in behind the limp creature

But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears

Take the rag away from your face

Now ain't the time for your tears

Cecil the Lion was the pride of Zimbabwe

He was 13-years-old and the heir to twelve cubs

A magnificent creature whose numbers were dwindlin'

Got tricked from the woods by a man set to kill him

Who hid behind weapons, on a jeep filled with petrol

Shot his next trophy, in the flood of a spotlight

Then tracked the poor lion, now grievously injured

Chased him on upwards of forty long hours

And ended the beast with a flick of his finger

Took his skin and his head as a mark of his greatness

And he never done nothing to Walter James Palmer

But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears

Take the rag away from your face

Now ain't the time for your tears

Walter James Palmer was a proud big game hunter

Killed a lion in July, and the world it took notice

Justified what he'd done, said the hunt was all legal

Claimed that the lion was responsibly taken

And maintained that he hadn't done nothin' improper

But the world disagreed, sent the man into hiding

Repentant no doubt, but for all the wrong reasons

With the scandal above all the source of contrition

As the corpse of the lion grows cold and it festers

And the world spins confused as to some people's motives

Been happening for years still with no sign of stoppin'

Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears

Bury the rag deep in your face

For now's the time for your tears

Writing credit to Bob Dylan (lyrics and cadence were drawn from "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll")

Cecil the Lion at Hwange National Park in 2010