Pete was riding through the woods,
Gun in basket, lifted hood.
Unexpectedly, a wolf
Out of bushes crossed his path.
Trouble ready, Peter stood.
Beast was hungry and unchained,
And emotionally drained.
It would swallow anything,
Even Peter, whole piece.
Basket too if not restrained.
What was Pete supposed to do?
Spell that freak with some Voodoo?
No, he simply shouted: – Wait!
I’m carrying porky cake.
Would you like some, Scooby Doo?
Given brain a little work,
Wolf agreed foretasting pork.
Peter went to basket then
Pulled a gun, and like in range
blew annoying stupid jerk.
Heavy bushes moved apart,
And unshaven dirty fart,
Peter’s granny stepped on path,
Barefooted, carrying stick,
Followed by his private guard.
Smiling granny cried: – I must
Say, you definitely passed
All this shit we planned for you.
I’m happy after all
That my boy is not a bust.