Vick, Vick you make me sick.
It isn't right to make dogs fight.

To kill them if they do not win
must be, for sure, a mortal sin.

The only thing left on this planet that's pure
Is our animal kingdom, of that I'm sure.

Vick, I ask, who was your mother?
To raise a boy who it wouldn't bother

To see a dog ripped, bloody, shred
And wish he'd fight to his earthly end?

You can teach a man or a dog to fight
But that does not make either right.

You had it all, Vick, money, fame
But you lost it all on a betting "game".

Vick, did you get rich on your mental ability?
Oh no, it was just your physical agility.

A trait the average street mutt or tom cat
Could always, I'd bet, beat you soundly at.

My hope is forever you're banned from football.
Which means you won't be able to do anything at all.

I hope in your old age, you'll never get
The joys of having a loving pet.

If that happens then in a sense
You'll truly get a life sentence.