Looking for a poem

I read a poem on here sometime back. It is called "Game from the gate". Haven't been able to find it using the search function. If anyone could assist that would be appreciated

 

APBT Poems

 

Thanks man, it wasn't in there though

 

Is this it.

DEAD GAME
DEAD GAME - OUT LIKE A CUR....

"I shall not falter, I shall not go out like a cur, I will scratch back from deaths door, no matter how many times my enemy closes it back! No amount of mouth can stop me! You will know I am victorious no matter my fate! Just remember I was dead game from the gate."

 

That's it. I was looking everywhere for that when this thead was started. Gave up after a few hours though. Lol.

 

Few more I found on my travels looking for that one.

Albany Lou - lyrics
My conditioning consists of flirt pole, spring pole,
Treadmill, for a month ' then I swallowed you whole.
I'm thirty pounds of pup, you could be a hundred,
And up a five time winner,
Don't matter, I'm making my dinner.

This won't be the same time that I see the same dog,
Look in my eyes, F###er cause this is a game dog.

Chorus:

I wasn't bred for looks I was bred for pain,
I wasn't bred for size, I was bred for the game.
I wasn't bred for color, I was bred to be game
My offspring is game, and I expect the same.

(2X)

I've survived hard rolls, when my game test was best,
If you are a head dog, don't matter I go for the chest.
I'll lock down, I'll bite hard , you need a breaking stick
Against a hard punisher and I'm taken it.
I'm not a mace, I have no super-powers, but I'm game,
See, Pleasure and pain for me is one and the same.

I felt teeth touch my bones, heard the pop,
Enough shaking and pop to put a man in the shop.
But I'm not in Vegas, this is in my nature..
Man made, Dead is the song that's being played,
Amazing grace, see how it tastes.
Death is the only way for me to escape.
And that's my freedom, can't deny me that
My predescors before were just like that
Put your money on me, and forget the lame dog,
Look into my eyes, f###er cause this is a game dog.

Chorus (2X)

Wildside Kennels, we're the court of Colby,
Primarily Jeep, 'though I date back to Primo,
Pro-plex, torn ears, only should have cropped 'em.
Dyin' dead game in twenty minutes, should have stopped 'em
Six year old ,Grand champs should retire at stud,
Used to be a firecracker, now they think I'm a dud.

O.K., bet against me, put your wealth in your belt,
And remember this: I would fight the devil himself!
I'm hard to hurt, and I'm even harder to kill.
My body's hard, and almost as strong as my will.
My will power don't yield to chemical in my brain.
Tells me get off this leash, and I'll get on the train.

Built to last three hours
Maybe get devoured
On my death bed
I won't die, I'll fight instead.

I'm Man made, Dead is the song that's being played,
Amazing grace, see how it tastes.
Death is the only way for me to escape,
And that's my freedom, can't deny me that
My predescors before were just like that
Put your money on me, and forget the lame dog
Look into my eyes, f###er cause this is a game dog.

Bulldog Poems

The Blood of A Champion

He may be a large dog or may be small,
He will fight one dog or fight them all,
He will give you all he has to give,
It's the only way he wants to live.
He has earned the respect of poor men and kings,
He has fought in the open, in pits and in rings.
He has fought the wolverine, the bull and the bear,
For his own life he has not a care.
He will not cower, he will not cry,
For to be called a cur he would rather die.
A cur and a fighter are not the same,
A cur is a quitter but a fighter is game.

We don't force him to fight, he can quit at anytime,
But it's not a bulldog that stand the line.
When men speak of bulldogs, the words that fit are those like courage, stamina and grit.

In the pit he is powerful, fierce and wild,
But at home, he will sleep with the smallest child.
He knows not the meaning of a word called quit,
He lives on a chain, but longs for the pit.

The blood of a champion flows in his veins,
He can stand the heat, he can stand the pain.
If it comes to the scratch, he'll make the run,
When he hears his master cry "Go get em', son!"

- Floyd Boudreaux



Dead Game

I wasn't bred for looks,
I was bred to bang,
I wasn't bred for size,
I was bred for the game,
I wasn't bred for color,
I was bred to be game,
My offspring is game,
And I expect the same.

- Albany Lou


Good Pit Dog

He is a pit bull, brindle and white,
A fast head dog with an even bite,
He can take his punishment and not mind it a bit,
For he'll always scratch and stay in the pit.
It takes him no time to finish the rat,
He stays with a badger, has no mercy for cats.
He's one of my best and he's game to the core,
He'll toe the scratch, I can ask no more.
He has no fear for whatever he faces,
Disposition is good and his looks are aces.
He's one of those dogs that money can't buy,
I'll keep him a lifetime, until he does die.
But before then he'll fight for me many a time,
Make me proud of his winnings, bring me many a dime.
He'll uphold the name of our pet dog, all right,
For he's not a show dog, but one that'll fight.
And that's what we want, dogs that are game,
Wherever you take them, they'll bring you no shame.
They need not to be handsome, nor good for the show,
But just good pit dogs, rarin' to go.

- Dawnrest


A keen dog, a lean dog, a wild dog and lone,
A rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on his own.
A bad dog, a mad dog, teasing running keep,
Howling under the moon, to keep wild souls from sleep.

He'll never be a house dog, sniffing smelly feet,
A sleek dog, a week dog, begging for his meat.
Not for him the warm heat, the fine filled bowl,
Closing door, wild ground, and dig and run and roll.

Not for him the other dogs, running by his side,
Some have run a little while, but all of them will hide.
He is still the lone trail, the tough trail, the best,
Whistling wind, wild stars, the hunger of the quest.

- Dawnrest


Betrayal

Today in the pit, I did meet my match,
But my legs are broken and I can't make the scratch.
Please pick me up now so I can fight another day,
But money and pride has got in the way.

You know I can't win as I let out a battle cry,
Looks like this pit is where I will die.
Look into my eyes did I not give my best?
But you knew that already when you did the game test.
This is for all the game bulldogs that never gave up,
Your masters betrayed you for fear of loosing buck.


Farewell to The Game

I have grown old in the game of life,
I will retire to the kennel, for I have fought my last fight.
But I have fought from Canada to the Mexico line,
And no dog has ever heard me whine.
When the fight was against me, it can never be said,
That smuggler backed off and hung his head.
Yes, I am proud of my record, I am proud of my name,
And those who have known me will say I was game.
But now I am old, I am feeble and grey,
My fighting days are over, I have changed my way.
I will take a long rest that I so badly need,
And in the comforts of the kennel, I will sow my seed.
So my son's may carry on the name which I bear,
For no dog can say but what I fought was fair.
But I've fought my last fight, I have heard my last gong.
I've done some good, I've done some wrong.
So now I bid you a kind goodnight,
From your old friend Smuggler, the bull that would fight.

- F.L.Y.

Ode to Ratler

Ol' Rattler the pit bull was one helluva dog,
Watched the house like a hawk, took rides on my hog.
He never knew a muzzle or chain,
Behind a wood fence was his private domain.
He barked at strangers that came too near,
Others he watched, they had nothing to fear.
More than a guard dog, he was my friend,
But an ignorant neighbor brought his life to an end.
Fed him some poison meant for a rat,
Cops said, "there's nothing we can do about that".
Now I'm selling my home and leaving this town,
But I'll be back to find the one who brought Ratler down.

- Dawnrest



Big Blue comes in growling, he's thrashin' round wild;
not bred of Grand Champions, just taunted till riled.

Ol' Blackie sits there patient, tail wagging with glee,
cause he'd done some rollin' and known how it'll be.

Washed down and toweled; the time, it drew near.

Big Blue's looking vicious, he has fifteen pounds,
but black dog just sat there, staring him down.

When the moment came, both exploded out their corners,
and met in the middle, but an inch towards Blue's owner.

Blackie was quicker, but Blue had a bite,
that black dog took a beatin', near and inch of his life.

Fifteen minutes went buy, most thought it was done;
but a few in the crowd saw the table had spun.

Big Blue got winded and the black one, he knew;
caught Blue by the shoulder, his vigor renewed.

Blue quickly turned, cold fear in his eyes,
so back to their corners to give scratchin' a try.

Blue came in charging and easy to read,
when Black saw him comin', his tail doubled the speed.

Black took what he'd learned and held to it that night,
by twenty-three minutes, it was no longer a fight.

Ol' Blackie went home, one under his belt;
big Blue, well he went with the cards he was dealt.

That black dog proved game, the blue not so much;
like all of his kind, just overgrown mutts.


The Brindle Dog

There once lived an overgrown kid near our lot,
Who owned a large mongrel whose name that I forgot.
The boy was a bully, his dog was the same,
And they both used their size to play a mean game.

All the kids in the neighborhood feared this tough nut,
As the house dogs for blocks feared this over sized mutt.
Toy Poodles, Collies, or Terrier who were small,
Made no difference, the big cur could handle them all.

The pair soon were famous, their game they played well,
For they had every dog near the tracks cut to hell.
One day, a new family took a house down the street,
they owned a trim brindle dog with a white blaze and white feet.

His eyes were quite small, his muzzle looked strong,
His low carried tail was fine pointed, not long.
He carried himself with a confident air,
On the street he'd pass dogs as if they were not there.

A few telltale scars on his shoulders and head,
told a mute story better than if it was red.
Fifty pounds of spring steel, he was quick as a cat,
And he'd fight if he had to at the drop of a hat.

Then one day in spring down by kids hut,
The big bully came, and behind him his mutt.
The two dogs stood rigid and to my surprise,
The yellow cur was twice the brindle dog's size

The big dog moved in, but his jaws snapped on air,
The thing he had lunged at, well it just wasn't there.
A clever side step had avoided his jump,
Something clamped on his throat, he went down with a thump.

He tried to break loose, he was fighting in fear,
His head, it was pounding, couldn't see, couldn't heart.
His wind was cut off, he was beaten and through,
And the big kid astonished, he had enough too.

When they got Brindle off, Yellow got to his feet,
And with a tail between his legs, weakly went down the street.
Now I wonder if anyone reading this creed,
Could you tell me what was this brindle dog's breed?

- J.R. LeManquais


Dog Fight

It's not the size of the dog in the fight,
It's the size of the fight in the dog.

- Dwight D. Elsenhower


The Pit Bulldog

There's a mighty creature on the prowl,
They don't bark much and seldom growl.
Can crush a bone with the slam of it's mouth,
You can find them East, West, North and South.
When you face them off and let them go,
The fight will last until one can go no more.
Unless you have a cur, and there's a lot around,
A good dogman will put these in the ground.
No other dog can stand the pain,
But a good pit bull has his claim to fame.
Some stay in the corner and won't cross that line,
Because the mighty pit bull is one of a kind.
We must stand by our dogs, united as we all should know,
Because the future holds more matches and we all love a good show.
I'm a new comer and this is true,
But I'm into the dogs deep, just like the rest of you.
If we meet in the pit, let's all remain friends,
Because we're all pit bull lovers until the very damn end.



Give me victory or give me death
I will make history and gain your respect
Take my lesson or take my life
Triumph is blemished in the absence of strife
I have great pride, For I am unequaled
Win, lose or tie, There won't be a sequel
It's unexplainable and seldom viable
But I am dead game, And that's undeniable



Farewell to the Game
From Old Smuggler

I have grown old
In the game of life
I will retire to the kennel
For I have fought my last fight.
But I have fought from Canada
To the Mexico line
And no dog has ever
Heard me whine.
When the fight was against me
It can never be said
That Smuggler backed off
And hung his head.
Yes, I am proud of my record,
I am proud of my name
And those who have known me
Will say I was game.
But now I am old
I am feeble and grey
My fighting days are over
I have changed my way.
I will take a long rest
That I so badly need,
And in the comforts of the kennel
I will sow my seed.
So my son's may carry on
The name which I bear
For no dog can say
But what I fought fair.
But I've fought my last fight
I have hard my last gong.
I've done some good,
I've done some wrong.
So now I bid you
A kind goodnight
From you old friend Smuggler,
The Bull that would fight.

F.L.Y.
Caldwell, Kansas



From the past to the present.
From the young to the old.
Many things were going to unfold.


Dogs will always be willing to give their best.
For the big day of their test.
Good ones become a champion.
Great ones become a grand.
And when they retire they become a R.O.M.

Names that went unmentioned.
Names that were forgot.
Names like Joe Corvino never received the credit they should have got.


What happened to the Dogmen?
That had class and style?
For when we read these books, they leave that chapter out.
Now all we see are guys with California clout!

Most of them have gone away.
Leaving so few of us left.
What happened to the Dogmen?
For I knew they were the best.

Names like Saddler and Gaboon. Clouse and Komosinski?
Names like Teal and Cotton. Offer and Hernandez.
Names like Tudor and Mayfield, Heinzl and Ferris?
What about the 500 in one's backyard?
My friends, his name was the Great Leo Kinard!

Every direction on the map, all these Dogmen met:
To the WEST in the HEAT.
To the EAST in the RAIN.
To the SOUTH in the SWAMPS.
To the NORTH in the SNOW.
They came from all over just to see their dogs "GO!"

I was there, I seen them all.
I seen Smith's Duggan make the gamest crawl.
I seen Ferris' Apache, Mayfield's Sam and Jessie stop them all.
I seen Strider in Pickens look for a hole in the wall
I seen Ferris' Red Geraldine take the snap out of Carver's fighting machine!

I seen things you don't know.
I seen Hernandez's $#@! make Sir Reivus, Maurice and Leo quiver.
I seen Teal's Tip work the ear and end Scout's career!
I seen Walter cry when Hunt's Pete made Whitey say Good-bye!

I made Playboy, Reno and others cry.
But no big deal, men like Mayfield, Taylor and Fowler made mine die!
So what if it took them half the night.
I took mine there prepared to fight!!

"Lullabies and Lies"? MAYBE....
"Legends and Dreams"? COULD BE....
"A part of reality"? SHOULD BE....
But to me just plain ol' HISTORY!!!!

~Sonny Sykes~


A Day At The Park

He is just like other dogs I would always say; He loves to go to
the dog park to play every day

Everyone loves him there, so it's ok; My dog won't fight--he
wasn't raised that way

But then one day, right before dark, A troubled young man
came into the park

He had by his side the biggest dog I'd ever seen, And
unfortunately for us, both were quite mean

We asked very nicely if they would just go; The dog answered
with a snarl and the man with a harsh "NO!"

Well his dog was a terror, threatening to all; Then he started a
fight with a Lab over a ball

They fought pretty hard and the man would not intervene;
Then here comes my dog and pushes right in between

He grabbed that big dog and thrashed him around; And with
one quick jerk threw him down on the ground

The Lab was able to escape; I heard everyone cheer; But my
dog was now in a frenzy and would not let me near

When he finally let go, what I saw stopped my heart; That big
mean dog had been torn apart

The authorities were called, the big dog was now dead; But
they didn't take the big dog; they took my dog instead

We all tried to explain that my dog saved the day; But because
of his breed he was taken away

You see my dog was a Pitbull and they don't get any breaks;
One small incident is all that it takes

A dog had died; And though he hadn't started the fight, My dog
was held responsible for what happened that night

He was deemed a danger to all and sentenced to death; And I
hold him now as he takes his last breath

It's my fault that my dog is being killed today; Please listen for
a moment to what I am going to say

Everyone warned me about his potential to fight; I said it won't
happen, I am raising him right

And now my dog is paying the ultimate price; Because I was
stubborn and wouldn't take the advice

He only did what he was bred to do; Learn from our story;
don't let it happen to you.



Dead Game"

I'm no good until I get hit the first time.
Tony says I'm a slow starter.
But once I get going, nothing can stop me.
I never quit. Never.
I looked across the ring. I'm fighting a black dog tonight. Bosco, I think his name is.
It doesn't matter what his name is.
This is the first time I saw him. They don't let me face the other dog at the weigh-ins anymore. Sometimes, I go after them right there. I have to save it for the fight.
He's a little bigger than me, but he's still inside the weight limit.
He's younger than me, too.
But I've been around a lot longer. You can see it on my face. And all over my body. Experience counts for a lot in these fights. You can't tell if a fighter's any good until he gets nailed the first time, that's what Tony says. Then you find out about his heart.
They say it's in my blood, fighting.
But I really only do it for Tony.
I love him.
He's been with me since I was real little. He gives me everything.
I train the old way. Special food. No sex before a fight.
They say that's why we started fighting. For sex. To have our pick of the $#@!es.
But I could have sex even if I didn't fight. I fight for Tony.
I work out all the time. Tony even built a special treadmill for me, to build up my endurance.
If you get tired in these fights, you lose.
I never get tired.
I watched the black dog across from me, waiting for the signal to start. I watched his eyes. He wasn't afraid.
They never are.
Down here, the purse is nothing . . . all the money comes from betting.
Tony always bets on me.
I'd never let him down.
I'd die first.
I'm not afraid of dying. It's just sleep. And you don't wake up.
I faced the black dog. Tony rubbed the back of my neck, getting it loose.
The crowd screamed.
We bumped once and the black dog came at me.
He was quicker than me. I took his first shot right in the chest. The fire exploded in me and I tried to tear his head off.
He went down, but he got right back up.
The referee separated us a couple of times when we locked together, but they never stop these fights.
It was a long time before I took him out.
Tony carried me out of the ring.
I couldn't see Tony, my eyes were torn.
The other dog hurt me real deep.
I was going to sleep.
I heard Tony crying.
I felt his hand on my head.
Patting my bloody fur for the last time.




Wonder abates, horror arose, Terror such as no one knows. Life is fleeting, time goes fast, hold tight to life... or it shall pass. Death is born apon an enemies wings ,a shadowed, clouded, evil thing. And when my opponent thinks im gone, They'll be horrified my gameness lives on...I fear no end, I fear no pain, my only concern is losing the game



Who The Rebel. by Nick the Greek

He was a friend, a good friend of mine
I trusted him to a 'T'
I never thought the day would come
That he would be telling on me.
When it first went down, the rumors were out
That he started to sing
I could not believe it, I argued with many
Because to me he was the King
But time would tell and prove me wrong
That he was no friend indeed
He ratted me out, with a list of others
Who thought he would be a bad seed
Families he ruined, lives are shot
Nothing but anguish and pain
I believe you keep your mouth shut
Especially when living the fast lane
But sometimes you learn in the game of life
Who your friends really are
Often times too late, no turning back
A Valuable lesson by far
So here I sit after telling the feds
I had nothing to do with him
A son of a bitch, a low life mother
He made the light in the game go dim
So let us recover, get stronger by this
Whatever the price may be.
He does not represent the South, Nor the Game
He is just $#@! to me!

---------- Post added at 01:21 AM ---------- Previous post was at 01:09 AM ----------

Grand Champion Little Jack. by Tom Ratliff

Here is a story about a champ I know
In his younger years he was ready to go
His teeth were strong his body firm and tight
With swiftness and alertness he was ready to fight
His nickname was Judo Jack because of his style
He would wrestle his opponents down
And their owners would throw in the towel
The history of Little Jack is one that's intriguing
For now he has two offspring to see this is believing
His son is a champion with a grip like steel
He made all his opponents bow down at his will
His daughter is unique in her own way
A two time winner what more can I say?
Her ability and swiftness and blinding speed
Would make all other contenders stand up and take heed
To give you a rundown is easy enough
Because Jack is a Grand Champion that's showed his stuff
Opponents he's fought had well reputations
But to get into the pit with Jack was pure annihilation
He is one of a kind who was raised with care
An EIGHT time winner he had style and a very hard bite
When he arrived at the site
All his opponents no matter what size weight or height
Little Jack was ready to give them all a fight
When the dust cleared the inevitable was done
From the cheers of the crowd you knew who had won.

Read more: Game Dog poems...

Game

Now the past is gone you see
And the pit is in our care,
The future should concern thee
of the game we're all to share.

Many a dogmen have come
And meny dogmen are here,
With very few pits being born
Of gameness we all hold dear.

We must always watch our guard
To test and prove pits game,
By scrathing and rolling hard
All pit dogs earn their name.

Game pit dogs never quit
while dog men cry and laugh,
For the pit would'nt be a pit
the pit would be a staff.

Pits should remain in sport
To this dog men all agree,
for proven game hard fought
Is what the pit is suppose to be.

------

This one was written in the 1800's about a Bulldog and a Terrier:

Oh me name it is Michael McCarthy
And I come from a place of renown,
I had a bet with old Timothy O'Flaherty
That me bulldog would wallop the town.
Now he told me of one Terrance Murphy
Who lived away out in the bog
That kept an old black and tan terrier
That would murder me twenty pound dog.
Champion he was a dandy
Till Murphy, the dirty old hog
Came along with his black and tan terrier
And murdered me twenty pound dog.
Now I led out me bold twenty pound hound
He looked just as good as a king
How he eyed that black and tan terrier
As they both dashed right around the ring.
Now they fought for an hour and a quarter
It was away out in the bog
The terrier took all the laurels
And a corpse lay me twenty pound dog.
Now I swore I'd have satisfaction
I off with me coat and me hat
I made a race for the whole Murphy faction
From big Terrance to little Pat.
Then I made a race for the terrier
And I kicked him right into the bog,
And all the way home I swore vengeance
Sweet vengeance for me twenty pound dog.


Read more: Game Dog poems...

A WARRIOR DOG’S TALE


Being rugged as the Rocky Mountain Range and hardy as the creatures which claw out a living from atop those alpine wastelands, the American Pit Bull Terrier would strike an impressive pose indeed amongst the lithic crags and slabs of granite which have lain for centuries weathering the harsh alpestrine elements.

Bearing the mark of the battler, his Lordly presence can strike the chords of emotion in a person ranging anywhere from fear and awe to obsequious esteem. There is one sentiment, however, which the Bulldog NEVER seems to evoke from anyone who has ever clapped eyes upon him, and that is one of indifference.

A lionhearted Spartan, stalwart and unafraid, he will look a human or any other creature directly in the eye and, in that gaze, will ascertain the intent of the individual. This in all verity, is a characteristic of distinction amongst true warriors; a trait that transcends race, gender, even species which can unnerve the most dogged of constitutions. Yet at the same time, that gaze can endear him to any honest hearted person who takes the time to regard him just a little closer and discover the bonafide Bulldog soul.

With the professional swank of a soldier, the Bulldog can elicit hostility from any other dog simply by just standing in one place. Possessing an aura which smacks of nobility, his vibes can be so overwhelming that most curs will feel uncontrollably compelled to try and $#@!ert their waning dominance while in his presence. Henceforth the obvious conclusions would be that Bulldogs do not necessarily start fights, but most certainly will finish them outright and final. And much to the chagrin of the Anti-APBT populace, he is steadily gaining ground in dispelling all myths of unsoundness and proving to be of a stable temperament. The same cannot be said of the sometime unscrupulous masters who would exploit this Bulldog courage as an extension of their own egos. The Bulldog is veritably a superior animal to most of the people in charge of him.

We humans would do well to emulate the APBT’S audacious attitude, adopt his philosophy of loyalty and surround ourselves with a code of ethics comparative to his own; for he has a brave heart a loyal soul and does not take advantage of the weak or helpless as the ballyragged people so often do. Displaying a primeval countenance with his low set brow, it is no wonder that some people fear him on sight. This, coupled with the precedence of his reputation as a rapacious gladiator, has only served to further press his adventurous feats into the realms of mythos.

Although the joy of battle does course through his veins as surely as that of the Archangel Michael, an APBT will also show the same exuberance for pulling a load, hunting the formidable wild boar, or merely playing a Game of catch with his master. This breed possesses a disposition nowhere near the frantic Canine he is so often painted to be. Only a person of true value and resolute gallantry could behold the Bulldog with nothing less than a venerate admiration for the daring qualities he possesses.

If you should choose to view the Bulldog with loathing and disdain in spite of his rich history and proven trustworthiness, then it would be suggested that you take a long look within yourself and ponder the question; do I have the mettle to even occupy the same space as this intrepid Canine? Our forefathers most certainly did and in fact the relationships between early American frontiersmen and their Bulldogs were deeply ingrained and wholly symbiotic, each depending upon the other for their very existence in an all too harsh environment. These dauntless pioneers relied heavily upon the Bulldogs grit and guts to thwart wild animal attacks, help herd potentially dangerous and large livestock, and also protect the family and flock from un-nameable individuals who might try and prey upon them. Many photographs from those early days included the APBT for he was indeed a member of the family, playing an integral role in the building of our great country. He endured hardship alongside our forefathers, a struggle from which we prosper today.

Repeating a quote from a descendent of Johannes Plott; (developer of the PLOTT HOUND which boasts a great deal of Bulldog blood) “The man who ain’t Game, ain’t fit to have him.” This bears upon all Bulldog owners today as it did generations long ago, for today’s Bulldog must endure his greatest threat of all time; genocide by the very hand which cared for and nurtured him in the past.

Media exploitation, public ignorance, overzealous municipalities, and “moral decay” are some of the contributing factors in this darkened image of our stouthearted friend. The ever faithful and regal dog is now dependent upon our Gameness in order to protect him from certain ideologues who seem bent upon the destruction and complete annihilation of this “true blue” breed. As troubled and tumultuous as the oceans he once crossed to arrive upon our American shores, so are the present times in which he now abodes.

IT IS CRUCIAL THAT ALL OF US SUMMON UP OUR COURAGE AND MUSTER FORCES IN ORDER TO FIGHT ALL ANTI APBT LEGISLATION. Would our forefathers have allowed invading nations to come and take away their hard earned lands and violate their families without a fight? If they had, we would not have been handed down the legacy by which we are now caretakers. Within this bequeathment lies a material responsibility upon all of us to preserve that which our predecessors strove so hard to achieve.

A well balanced and plucky Canine companion which works hard, plays hard, and fights even harder for his human family when they are in need of his services, from yesterdays misty swirls of time he treads upon the bent backs of the dog men who held him in such high regard….the archetypal American Pit Bull Terrier!!

“The humble little friend is gone where go the beasts that perish” – Samuel L. Clemens, 1903 (a Bulldog admirer)

T.M. Riddle – Native Hunt

YIS

---------- Post added at 06:27 PM ---------- Previous post was at 06:25 PM ----------

Got all three of these from Dawnrest at one point or another...



Good Pit Dog

He is a pit bull, brindle and white
A fast head dog with an even bite.
He can take his punishment and not mind it a bit
For he’ll always scratch and stay in the pit
It takes him no time to finish the rat
He stays with a badger, has not mercy for cats.
He’s one of my best and he’s game to the core
He’ll toe the scratch, I can ask for no more.
He has no fear for whatever he faces
Disposition is good and his looks they are aces.
He’s one of those dogs that money can’t buy
I’ll keep him a lifetime, until he does die.
But before then he’ll fight for me many a time
Make me proud of his winnings, bring me many a dime.
He’ll uphold the name of our pet dog, all right
For he’s not a show dog, but one that’ll fight.
And that’s what we all want, dogs that are game
Wherever you take them, they’ll bring you no shame.
They need not be handsome, nor good for the show
But just good pit dogs, rarin’ to go

Dawnrest






PIT DOG PRAYER

Handle me kind my cherished master,
for no heart is more thankful of kindness
than the loving heart of mine.

Speak to me frequently,
for no sound is more soothing,
as you'll know by my wagging whip tail
when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.

Keep me warm and dry,
for though I may tolerate discomfort,
I want nothing more,
than to be comfortable.

Do not break my spirit with a cudgel,
for though I shall lick your hand between strikes,
I learn more rapidly through enduring patience, comprehension and intelligence.

Fill my fresh water,
for I can not speak of suffering thirst.

Feed me good food,
for my appetite maintains strength,
to jump and play,
to work,
to walk by your side,
to stand ready and willing,
to protect you with my life,
to be proven,
for my heart, mind and spirit.

Breed with me my kind,
for carrying on that what others pray to own.

And,
my cherished master,
when my time has come,
and I no longer enjoy good health,
do let me go forth in beginning a new change.
If need be,
take my life comfortably,
and I shall go forth knowing
my fate was always trusted in your hands.

by Dawnrest

.







Game

Now the past is gone you see
And the Pit is in our care,
The future should concern thee
Of the game we're all to share.

Many a dog men have come
And many dog men are here,
With very few Pits being born
Of the gameness we all hold dear.

We must always watch our guard
To test and prove Pits game,
By scratching and rolling hard
All Pit dogs earn their name.

Game Pit dogs never quit
While dog men cry and laugh,
For the Pit wouldn't be a Pit
The Pit would be a staff.

Pits should remain in sport
To this dog men all agree,
For proven game hard fought
Is what the pit is suppose to be.


by Dawnrest

Ode To Ratler
"Blockhead" Rowell
Ol' Ratler the pit bull was one helluva dog
Watched the house like a hawk, took rides on my Hog
He never knew a muzzle or chain
Behind a wood fence was his private domain
He barked at strangers that came too near
Others he watched, they had nothing to fear
More than a guard dog, he was my friend
But an ignorant neighbor brought his life to an end
Fed him some poison meant for a rat
Cops said, "there's nothing we can do about that"
Now I'm selling my home and leaving this town
But I'll be back
to find the one who brought Ratler down

by C. Rowell Dawnrest



The Lone Dog
A keen dog, a lean dog, a wild dog and lone,
A rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on his own
A bad dog, a mad dog, teasing running keep,
Howling under the moon, to keep wild souls from sleep.

He'll never be a house dog, sniffing smelly feet,
A sleek dog, a weak dog, begging for his meat
Not for him the warm heat, the fine filled bowl,
Closing door, wild ground, and dig and run and roll.

Not for him the other dogs, running by his side,
Some have run a little while, but all of them will hide
He is still the lone trail, the tough trail, the best
Whistling wind, wild stars, the hunger of the quest.

Dawnrest





Sacs And Sticks
Burlap sacs and sticks
Were leading the pack,
They brought in the picks
Big bets on a black.

Black showing great mite
Still buckskin was quiet,
Both conditioned right
Fed the right diet.

All night they were matching
Both showing strong rolls,
Still buckskin was scratching
When black quit his hold.

The keep was now mending
They blew out the wic's,
Now came the tending,
Burlap sacs and sticks.

by Dawnrest


Read more: Game Dog poems...


THE BRINDLE DOG by J.R. LeManquais

There once lived an overgrown kid near our lot,
Who owned a large mongrel whose name I forgot.
The boy was a bully, his dog was the same,
And they both used their size to play a mean game.

All the kids in the neighborhood feared this tough nut,
As the house dogs for blocks feared this over sized mutt.
Toy Poodles, or Collies, or Terriers small,
Made no difference, the big cur could handle them all.

The pair soon were famous, their game they played well,
For they had every dog near the tracks cut to hell.
One day a new family took a house down the street,
they owned a trim brindle dog with white blaze and white feet.

His eyes were quite small, his muzzle looked strong,
His low carried tail was fine pointed, not long.
He carried himself with a confident air,
On the street he'd p$#@! dogs as if they weren't there.

A few telltale scars on his shoulders and head,
told a mute story better than if it was read.
Fifty pounds of spring steel, he was quick as a cat,
And he'd fight if he had to at the drop of a hat.

Then one day in spring down by the kids hut,
The big bully came, and behind him his mutt.
The two dogs stood rigid and to my surprise,
The yellow cur was twice the brindle dogs size.

The big dog moved in, but his jaws snapped on air,
The thing he had lunged at, well it just wasn't there,
A clever side step had avoided his jump,
Something clamped on his throat, he went down with a thump.

He tried to break loose, he was fighting in fear,
His head it was pounding, couldn't see, couldn't hear.
His wind was cut off, he was beaten and through,
and the big kid astonished, he had enough too.

When they got :Brindle" off, "Yellow" got to his feet,
and with tail between his legs weakly went down the street.
now I wonder if anyone reading this creed,
could tell me what was this brindle dogs breed?

Read more: Game Dog poems...


The Pit Bulldog by Howard "B"


There's a mighty creature on the prowl,
They don't bark much and seldom growl,
Can crush a bone with the slam of it's mouth,
You can find them East, West, North and South,
When you face them off and let them go,
The fight will last till one can go no more,
Unless you have a cur, and there's alot around
A good Dogman will put these in the ground,
No other dog can stand the pain,
But a good pit bull has his claim to fame,
Some stay in the corner and won't cross that line,
'Cause the mighty pit bull is one of a kind,
we must stand by our dogs united as we all should know,
'Cause the future holds more matches and we all love a good show,
I'm a new comer and this is true,
But I'm into the dogs deep, just like the rest of you,
If we meet in the pit, lets all remain friends,
'Cause we're all pit bull lovers, till the very damn end.

Read more: Game Dog poems...

Big blue comes in growling, he’s thrashin round wild;
not bred of Grand Champions, just taunted till riled.

Ol Blackie sits there patient, tail wagging with glee,
cause he’d done some rollin and knows how it’ll be.

Washed down and toweled; the time, it drew near.


Big Blue’s lookin vicious, he has fifteen pounds
but that black dog just sat there, staring him down.

When the moment came, both exploded out their corners
and met in the middle, but an inch towards Blue’s owner.

Blackie was quicker, but Blue had a bite
that black dog took a beatin, near an inch of his life.

Fifteen minutes went by, most thought it was done;
but a few in the crowd saw the table had spun.

Big Blue got winded and the black one, he knew;
caught Blue by the shoulder, his vigor renewed.


Blue quickly turned, cold fear in his eyes
so back to their corners to give scratchin a try.

Blue came in charging and easy to read
when black saw him comin his tail doubled speed.

Black took what he’d learned and held to it that night,
by twenty-three minutes it was no longer a fight.

Ol Blackie went home, one under his belt;
Big Blue, well he went with the cards he was dealt.

That black dog proved game, the blue not so much;
like all of his kind, just over grown mutts.

Read more: Game Dog poems...


DEAD GAME
DEAD GAME - OUT LIKE A CUR....

"I shall not falter, I shall not go out like a cur, I will scratch back from deaths door, no matter how many times my enemy closes it back! No amount of mouth can stop me! You will know I am victorious no matter my fate! Just remember I was dead game from the gate."



Sent from my iPad

 

GAME TO THE BONE

When a dog has given you his all
His climb was high, but he's finally taken his fall,
What should be done?
I thought this game was fun.
As loyal as the dog is to you,
You chose to cur out, without considering him through.
What if he got out classed
Gave it his best,
And his game test was passed.
sorry boss
Can't pull it off this time,
Because of me
Your pockets took a loss.
That's okay because you're 100% bulldog
I can see dearly,
Never been blinded by the fog.
You gave it your all,
And your still walking tall
Son your still my champ
Won three, lost one game,
proud to have you in camp
'Still in the game

- Stizo

 

This one?
Out Like A Cur....
I Shall Not Falter, I Shall Not Go Out Like a Cur, I Will Scratch Back From Deaths Door, No Matter How Many Times My Enemy Closes It Back! No Amount of Mouth Can Stop Me! You Will Know I am Victorious No Matter My Fate! Just Remember I Was Dead Game From The Gate!
by: Derek Rayborn