These are the last of days, a vast array,
Of fake Raiders up in a masquerade,
It's swim or drown, we act we don't sink,
Its primal instinct we play we don't think,
Its do or die, no turning back like suicide,
Till you're doing time with these cut throats in a Panther Jersey,
So don't feed the animals, or act a fool,
Your just one man, a young lamb amongst a pack of wolves,
So while you're fighting over scraps and loose change and moot claims,
Panthers higher up in the food chain,
And small time predators rove in packs,
That why big time executives throw them scraps,
So much static that this is such a hazardous business,
And having to witness that these Raiders are bitches,
Got me laughing hysterically, We've the heart of a pedigree,
So smashing the Raiders just marking our territory.
Happy game day.