Runnin wit the wolves
It's not my true nature
But it the state of a affairs here
Searching for the golden paper
Growin up a young pup
Said I'd never amount to much
But my furs warm
An I keep an everlasting Dutch
Coming up
Mad hills and such
Hunter and the hunted
Dodging bullets tough
Avoiding the clutch
Life hangs in a balance
Sharp and cold
like my teeth to the touch
Forest gets dark
Hear the calls of the lark
Spirit gets heavy
Staying alive is an art
Nothing around
Just the sound of the pound of four paws coverin ground
Dirty claw prints to prove I'm around.
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