Always so lovely to have you back
Our favourite hack on all out attack
Not on your nelly HIGNFY telly crack (or old school smack)
Coz seedier media’s been so so slack
Greedier bottom feeder out of whack
Needier all we lack but dole out cack
Deplore how on the poor they snack
Hislop strop stops slop gets us on track
Everything broken & black he's our jack
Still got the knack got em on the rack
Leader of the pack with a stack of flak
Won’t change tack will get em the sack
Burn baby burn.. the return of the mack
Helpless Winners At The Fair
Clone Wolf
Tantrum Rages
Leader Of The Pack…
Careless Sycophants
Elephantile Contagions
Self-Defeating Victims.
The Old Irony Escapes
Bare-Knuckles
Modeled, Paling…
Grabbing Artificial
Pleasure From
Manipulation's
Freshest Kill.
Your Cheeks Are
Tender Bloody Sweet
All You Cuddle-
Yummy Treats!
Your Tribe Awaits
With A Better Hat And
Sweater - Be-Damned…
Re-Damned. AGAIN!
Idolizers.
What You ‘Really Needed’
Cost Us All Our
Arms And Legs.
Too Bad That
Couldn’t Save Our
Extremely Enormous:
Vapid
Heart And
Head, Instead…
Skull-Candy Now
In Sugar-Cotton.
-Gray Squirrel
06-30-2025
The ‘Jerk,’ the ‘Frug, the ‘Freddie’
The ‘Pony,’ the ‘Chicken’ the ‘Limbo’
all gone the way of my old stereo…
Yet ballroom dancing keeps coming back
and square dancing is on the attack
Soon ‘The Monster Mash’ will be
~ THE LEADER OF THE PACK! ~
In the dark of night, a silhouette appears,
A man in black, shrouded by his fears,
His skin as dark as coal, his eyes so bright,
A symbol of strength, a beacon of light.
His history is one of pain and sorrow,
But he stands tall, never bending to the blow,
With every step he takes, he leaves his mark,
A reminder of his power, his eternal spark.
His soul is deep, his heart is pure,
A treasure chest of stories, waiting to be heard,
He speaks with passion, with words that sing,
A black man's voice, a mighty, soaring thing.
He dances to the rhythm of his soul,
His feet tapping out a beat that's whole,
A symphony of sound, a joy to behold,
A black man's spirit, never to be sold.
And though the world may try to keep him down,
He rises up, his spirit never bound,
His eyes set on the prize, his heart on fire,
A black man's journey, one of endless desire.
So let us honor him, this man in black,
A symbol of hope, a leader of the pack,
His legacy forever etched in time,
A black man's spirit, forever sublime.
Is it a sin to feel pride?
I hear it can be deadly
But let us put that aside
I don’t choose to commit a medley
To me sin is neither here nor there
If you look around it’s everywhere
Just pick out your sin du jour
Allow me to take you on a tour
There’s pride, envy, greed
Anger and laziness,
Though not in the lead
Don’t forget gluttony and lust
Those two are almost a must!
Are you feeling more normal,
A part of the crowd?
I hear there are some folks
Who won’t repeat them outloud
I guess pride is leader of the pack
But please, cut me some slack
Have you really never felt a tad smug
Never felt like you’ve found a new drug?
If pride is the worst sin you’ve done
Well you haven’t lived
Haven’t had any fun
So the next time you’re tempted
And wanna give it your all
Don’t forget the famed Proverb:
Pride goeth before a fall
Theres a three legged dog called bobby and some folks call him robbie
Which he doesnt like
He has to be kept on a rope so he doesnt elope from the garden he bathes in all day
Theres adventure in his soul and he likes a full food bowl
He lost his leg crossing the road one day
You know it doesnt hold him back hes still the leader of the pack but he really does like to stray
His coat is ginger and white and he would never bite but he would like a taste of the car that hit him that day
When he goes for a wee he doesnt have to cock it you see
Its not bad being three legged bobby
I am the madness of a rabid dog.
The leader of the hunt, the order of the kill.
My prey are these whores that walk the world.
Hunting them is a rush, but the kill is the biggest.
The way they use their last breath to plead and beg.
It does them no good, for I'm the black wolf of death.
The leader of the pack, the ultimate killer.
Their is no campus safe from my reach.
I've hunted coast to coast.
You'll know my kills, their throats have been ripped.
I love sinking my teeth in to those silky soft necks.
As long as my pack roam.
Whores aren't safe.
The moon is full tonight, so another hunt begins.
The black stallion is the
Most beautiful horse in the world
His black shiny coat
Glows with power and
His strength stands out
His strong legs moves
Like lighting and it makes
Him run like he floating on air
His stance is statuette
Which makes him mystical and
The leader of the pack
The black stallion is the
Most beautiful horse in the world
His black shiny coat
Glows with power and
His strength stands out
His strong legs moves
Like lighting and it makes
Him run like he floating on air
His stance is statuette
Which makes him mystical and
The leader of the pack
Ebony took her jack-o-lantern and sat on Cauldron Hill.
She was Old McWee’s familiar, so she knew she could be still.
The silence of the night boded well for the Eve of Halloween.
Ebony’s magical powers assured her she would not be easily seen.
The wind was just strong enough to flicker Jack’s candle a bit.
Ebony watched a wolf pack go by, she held on to her sit.
The leader of the pack did not sense her, but his wife was fey
She turned and smiled her teeth at her as he led the pack away.
In the distance Ebony could sense the children getting ready for bed.
Among statutes of ghosts and witches, and some devils of an ugly red.
Jack-o-lanterns flickering. Their moms came in for a good night kiss.
Old McWee came toward Ebony and asked “What did I miss?”
Same ole story, Ebony said. Like every Halloween from 1933.
They are singing the same tunes, running the same direction, you see.
There are some new cartoon costumes, of which I am not aware.
But it is the Eve of Halloween, so there is still magic in the air!
Man, it’s been four long dog years!
Forlorn doggone tears
of toil
and trouble
It’s a flee collar fact,
this feels like forty years
of Sirius jaw smack:
Loss leader of the pack
has got a Cujo shifty,
barf shuffle
Spit pissing
constant doggie poo
puff bubbles
It’s bad to the bone,
contentious err
Listening to those vulgar [s]wag tales,
has pup aged
my schnauzer soul ten-fold
That’s howl long it’s been,
four dog-eared years!
All of them dog whistle tweets,
mutter sounds belch indiscreet
Vomit noise spilt in the streets,
by deputy dawgs on gag delete:
A Pluto soundbyte loop repeat
Those pilfer pooches
was gon be
the Scooby-Doo death of me
But I didn’t wanna wait-see
Woe, man! It’s been four long dog years,
of carny bark
not subtle
Every wrinkled nose ballot spoke,
grey stubble
Too many me
were simply dog tired
Of seeing Lady Tramp Liberty
lip muffled
Her trashed democracy hope
getting Lassie tear-tossed
in the rubble
I truly dream-fear
those rabid dog years
(four centuries of snarl jeers)
will runt-of-the-litter reappear
11-30-20
My Lady, Wolf Moon
The decade’s first. One might say
Leader of the pack.
If I was the ruler of the world...
The Head Honcho so to speak
First thing I'd do
Is to rule out all wars forever
They never accomplish anything
Except kill many innocent folks like you and me
The end results never justifies the loss
Of so many innocent souls
When will we ever learn
Or WILL we ever learn
Man has been acting like animals since the beginning
The Leader of the Pack, the Head Honcho
My question is... WHY?
Is there a gene embedded in our soul
That forces us to consider war
Instead of a lifetime of peace and contentment
Seems kinda silly to me
There certainly is a dark side
To us guys, us so-called intelligent beings
If only we could all live in peace forever
And never have to fight another war
What a dreamer!
Let the voices that you hear
Always encourage you
Enlighten your spirit
And motivate you too
You can find yourself
Be the leader of the pack
Empower your world
In order to bring the magic back
As a white she-wolf and leader of the pack,
I was in charge and knew when to attack.
It was a harsh life as far as hunting would go,
We would hunt with the Raven and share what we know.
Being the female I knew best how to delegate,
For in my command was the whole pack's fate.
I was not the best hunter for he was my mate,
This I would use to my advantage, often he would debate.
Our territory was rather large for our pack size,
In the colder months, we needed it to avoid our demise.
With only one in ten hunts being successfully won,
Constantly on the move all night, in the day enjoying the sun.
February to March was roughly our breeding season,
Usually, I'd have four to six pups within reason.
We favoured deer and moose for our main kill,
But would chase anything that moved for a thrill.
Lossing our habitat so quickly to mankind,
Threatening our survival, we are now harder to find.
Make no mistake, my life as a wolf is lonely,
Though being social is what I must also be.
1~30~2017
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