Be Prepared Hoodwinked Song [exclusive] Direct

“We’ve been small-time,” Vernon said, spitting a toothpick into the creek. “Knocking over bird feeders. Stealing picnic baskets. But that ends tonight. We’re going to pull the biggest score this forest has ever seen.”

Flick sighed, tucked his pencil behind his ear, and climbed higher into the tree. He’d seen this before. Vernon was a dreamer. And dreams, in this forest, had a way of running headfirst into reality—usually in the form of a little girl with a red hood, a grandmother with a black belt in judo, and a singing goat who just happened to be passing by. be prepared hoodwinked song

Vernon grinned, and it wasn’t a nice grin. “Red Puckett. That little girl with the basket. She delivers the grand prize entry to the judges every year. And this year, her granny’s recipe is the one to beat. So we intercept the basket. Swap the real strudel with a fake. Then we claim the prize.” But that ends tonight

He smiled, sharpened his pencil, and waited. Vernon was a dreamer

The chipmunks started humming a jaunty tune. Flick wrote: “Phase four? We’ve never reached Phase three in any plan ever.”

Vernon pointed a claw toward the distant clock tower of the woodland town. “The Schnitzelhausen Annual Baking Competition is tomorrow. First prize: a solid gold rolling pin and enough cash to buy our own mountain. But here’s the thing—we don’t bake. We steal .”

From the mossy bank of the creek, the wolf in a cheap newsboy cap—the one the cops called “The Big Bad”—was pacing. His name was Vernon, and he was tired. Tired of being the fall guy. Tired of running from the pig detective with the badge. Tired of the way the forest whispered his name like a curse.