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Mel, The Needle Man.

Don't mourn for me when I am dead
I was raced for greed; I'm Irish bred.
No one cared if I lived or died,
I raced and lost, my owner sighed
"He's got to go, I need the space,
I've a faster hound I want to race".

At the end of the night there comes a van
Driven by Mel, the needle man.
One by one we're pushed inside
Jabbed by the needle, there's nowhere to hide.
There is no escape just fear and pain,
I'll never see the track again.

Dead bodies are heaped at the rear of the van
Killed by Mel, the needle man.
The dog before me screams and bites
But he's kicked in the guts, he's lost his fight.
Now it's my turn to go, I'm sick with fear
I see dead carcasses at the rear.

My legs grow weak, I hit the ground
Who gives a damn, I'm just a Greyhound.

Scout

There is a van that goes around the racetracks and at the end of the evening, dogs that no longer perform well
are killed in the back of the van for just ten pounds.

.

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