Two little mice fell into a bucket of cream. The first mouse quickly gave up and drowned. The second mouse, wouldn’t quit. He struggled so hard that eventually he churned that cream into butter and crawled out. Gentlemen, as of this moment, I am that second mouse.
You got this lion, he’s the king of the jungle. Huge mane out to here. He’s laying down under a tree, in the middle of Africa, he’s so big, he’s so hot! He doesn’t wanna move.
Now, the little lion cubs they start messin’ with him, bitin’ his tail, bitin’ his ears, he doesn’t do anything.
The lioness, she starts messing with him, coming over making trouble, still nothing.
Now the other animals, they notice this, and they start to move in. The jackals, hyenas, they’re barking at him, laughing at him. They nip his toes and eat the food that’s in his domain. They do this and they get closer and closer and bolder and bolder, till one day…that lion gets up and tears the shit outta everybody, runs like the wind, eats everything in his path, ’cause every once in a while, the lion has to show the jackals who he is.
IT'S TOO LATE TO BE SCARED.
Its time.
Run and you'll live – at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!
Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, All in the valley of Death rode the six hundred. Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!” he said. Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!” Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldier knew someone had blundered. Their's not to make reply, their's not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them volleyed and thundered; stormed at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of hell rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their sabres bare, flashed as they turned in air sabring the gunners there, charging an army, while all the world wondered. Plunged in the battery-smoke right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian reeled from the sabre stroke shattered and sundered. Then they rode back,
but not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon behind them volleyed and thundered; stormed at with shot and shell, while horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well. Came through the jaws of Death, back from the mouth of hell, all,that was left of them,
Was the six hundred.