They say,feed us your girls for dinner.
The ones with big or flat chests.
The ones with dimples or short waists.
The wolves howl.
Afterall,they are just an easy meal for them anyhow.
Come and feed us your girls in a short red dress.
The wolves devour and carress.
And when there is dinner scraps,they throw it all away.
Just to get wasted another day.
They say for the wolves they are an easy meal.
But some ask,does mother know?
About the men who can’t keep off their hands.
Who cannot keep it in their pants.
As Little Red walked down the night in her red dress.
Makeup and false lashes on her face.
The wolves creeped around her in the dark alley.
That’s where it may end.
Used up or eaten.
Devoured or beaten.
The wolves say,you are too skinny.
Then,you are too fat.
You smile too much,now smile more.
Don’t be shy,show some waist.
Show some skin under with the lace.
Because to wolves,girls are just an easy meal.
They don’t help you escape or heal.
The wolves are often men who can’t keep it in their pants.
And the girl runs down the street.
Looking for mother to tell her,let her know.
That somebody ogled her all down low.
Feed us your girls,the wolves shouted out.
And you can hear them growling.
At the end,you are looking to be hunted if you dress like that.
Doesn’t matter is your chest big or flat.
And when she got surrounded.
Ran away,probably wounded.
And mother doesn’t wait.
She teaches the wolves a lesson.
But the comments don’t always lessen.
As the girl is not a meal.
She isn’t an expensive steak,nor a tease.
She wishes men would keep it in their pants and release their hold.
But as you grow old,honey,you are scraps.
For wolves seek young and beautiful.
And a red dress is not an invintation to what’s under.
Alas,wolves take what they want and devour.
