It's got a fat grip
And a skinny trigger blade
No second pull just the one I'm afraid
The barrel will wobble
And the plastic sight break on sight
A safety but no beartrap
And a seal on the port side
A big funnel at the breech
But the blueing is a peach
It's a Webley Vulcan and its got
TWELVE FOOT PAAAHNDS TWELVE FOOT PAAAAHNDS TWELVE FOOT PAAAAHNDS
They looked at the foreign competition and decided to take notes
Lost them in the pub or somewhere, a trouser in the wash?
Then upgraded the old Hawks, those manky old goats.
Webley ... six letters exported to young Turkey.
Good luck with that mate.


A badly designed poem for a badly designed springer.