'twas not for want of trying that i fail'd
To make the team and wear the special tie
The meaty morons hated that i sail'd
Through classes that would baffle Mr Fry
So **** you all you brainless retard jerks
And stick your tie up where the sun don't shine
Your teams, your sports your games the frigging works
To vomit make me oftentimes incline
So when i see the tinfoil so-called torch
Processing through the county day by day
I hope the bearer gets a nasty scorch
And drops the ****er in a pile of hay
It is completely sans a sense of shame
I cry **** up **** up and **** the Game
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