An Ode To The Lions.....
Twas two months 'fore the bowl
And all through Motown,
Lion fans had been drinking,
'Cause their team played like clowns.
Their spirits were broken,
Playoff dreams badly dashed,
And with no chance of winning,
They just felt better smashed.
By the time of Thanksgiving,
The fans were dismayed,
The cats played like kittens,
Medicated and spayed.
They first took the field,
To rounds of good cheers,
But they left it defeated,
To thunderous jeers.
Joey walked off Ford Field,
Then Garcia played bad,
Then the crowd wanted vengeance,
And both Mooch's 'nads.
The following Monday,
To appease the fans' hate,
Millen gave them a conference,
With head of Mooch on a plate.
Millen proved himself desperate,
To break the team's curse,
But the fans knew correctly,
Things could only get worse.
Then the Vikings flew in,
Played their sad conference brothers,
And beat them as if,
They'd insulted their mothers.
The crowd booed Garcia,
His plays made them sore,
And they chanted for Joey,
Though they'd jeered him before.
The receivers dropped passes,
Their skills far less than honed,
Rogers warmed up the bench,
Looking pleasantly stoned.
By halftime they'd been spent,
They looked frazzled and bored,
They'd resorted to cheering,
When the Vikings had scored.
Then the stands had erupted,
To manic applause,
When Duncan deBruin,
Took up a great cause.
He leapt up from his seat,
With a sign lacking crass,
But still begging the Fords,
To can Matt's losing ass.
He pranced through the seats,
Looking graceful and glib,
Then was tackled by goons,
And punched twice in the rib.
Over night he had fame,
Was known clear cross the nation,
And now thanks to those goons,
He's a TV sensation.
Now us fans have new faith,
That Matt's job will be gored,
As he's anally ravaged,
By William Clay Ford.
And now we have hope,
That they'll hear our sad calls,
Cause our team reeks of cheese,
'Neath a wildebeest's balls.
Now our team is convulsing,
Hovering closer to death,
They may improve next year,
But I'll not hold my breath.
And all through Motown,
Lion fans had been drinking,
'Cause their team played like clowns.
Their spirits were broken,
Playoff dreams badly dashed,
And with no chance of winning,
They just felt better smashed.
By the time of Thanksgiving,
The fans were dismayed,
The cats played like kittens,
Medicated and spayed.
They first took the field,
To rounds of good cheers,
But they left it defeated,
To thunderous jeers.
Joey walked off Ford Field,
Then Garcia played bad,
Then the crowd wanted vengeance,
And both Mooch's 'nads.
The following Monday,
To appease the fans' hate,
Millen gave them a conference,
With head of Mooch on a plate.
Millen proved himself desperate,
To break the team's curse,
But the fans knew correctly,
Things could only get worse.
Then the Vikings flew in,
Played their sad conference brothers,
And beat them as if,
They'd insulted their mothers.
The crowd booed Garcia,
His plays made them sore,
And they chanted for Joey,
Though they'd jeered him before.
The receivers dropped passes,
Their skills far less than honed,
Rogers warmed up the bench,
Looking pleasantly stoned.
By halftime they'd been spent,
They looked frazzled and bored,
They'd resorted to cheering,
When the Vikings had scored.
Then the stands had erupted,
To manic applause,
When Duncan deBruin,
Took up a great cause.
He leapt up from his seat,
With a sign lacking crass,
But still begging the Fords,
To can Matt's losing ass.
He pranced through the seats,
Looking graceful and glib,
Then was tackled by goons,
And punched twice in the rib.
Over night he had fame,
Was known clear cross the nation,
And now thanks to those goons,
He's a TV sensation.
Now us fans have new faith,
That Matt's job will be gored,
As he's anally ravaged,
By William Clay Ford.
And now we have hope,
That they'll hear our sad calls,
Cause our team reeks of cheese,
'Neath a wildebeest's balls.
Now our team is convulsing,
Hovering closer to death,
They may improve next year,
But I'll not hold my breath.
posted by JEP at 2:50 PM
1 Comments:
Tragically buddy, I think next year's going to be worse. It just doesn't look good for the home town. On the bright side, the phrase "Fire Millen!" has become a battle cry in this town after last Sunday. It's in the newspapers, on television and even spray painted on bedsheets and hung over freeway overpasses. Amazingly, Matt Millen seems to have surpassed Kwame Kilpatrick as the most hated man in Detroit. At this rate, I can not imagine the Fords holding on to him any more past this season. Hopefully our new GM will get us started in the right direction.
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