You Have No Rights
by Peter Loaf

Highland tour hiking, trespassing dame
I hide in waiting, favorite game
Game Keeper duties
Poachers and cuties
Gadgets from London, keeping them tame

Sleeper hold grabbing, out like a light
Metal cuffs clicking, locking it tight
Dental vice propping
Her spirit Topping
Senses recover, struggle and fight

Chain between ankles, awkward to walk
Her hands are useless, can’t even talk
The switch for driving
Her desperate striving
Hobbled and helpless, up on the chalk

Manor house standing, top of the hill
Sundress in ribbons, implacable will
The Master has needs
His fantasy breeds
Trespassers taken, his needs fulfill

Helpless in metal, stumble and fall
His switch is biting, for mercy call
New Master running
For poacher gunning
Stopping and grinning, belle of the ball

Standing inspection, she tries to beg
Whippy switch stinging, her welted leg
The Master Masters
Her fate’s forecaster
Talent and figure, our little Meg

Time in the cellar, no hint of sky
Her buckets changing, her rights deny
Game Keeper duties
Feeding the cuties
Dental vice propping, feed bag apply

Helpless in metal, force feeding mess
Then a quick hosing, caring for guests
A quick little fucking
Kicking and bucking
her slaver training, she’s headed West

Dude ranch exclusive, mountains surround
New slaves in coffle, sexy impound
The cowboys urban
Their masks disturbin’
Helplessly serving, gather around

Master and Keeper, slipping away
Trespasser renting, a six week stay
The slave trade booming
Our freedom dooming
Ruling class bastards, like birds of prey

You Have No Rights