Almost there
I can’t wait for the start of camp
When the pundits chonees do become damp
And we declare to be the off-season champ
Fore I am going mad and banging my fists
And I swear to Thor that I’ll be so pissed
If one more joker doth post a list
Of top the ten arses he’s wishing he’d kissed
So rescue me my trio of friends
Answer this question and make it all end
What basket o’ gifts would ye send
If a Pro-Bowl did make one of our tight ends
KLUBYE til we meet again
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