There once was a thing called the shoot
All thought that it would be a hoot
Congrats to J. Schanker
He will be our anchor
For you all of us' do root.
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We stayed up 'till 7 a.m.
Arguing this, that and them
It was oh so bloody
But it was not too muddy
And now we're left hacking up phlegm.
The Crimson elections are painful
We wish our praise could be more gainful
We wish them all well,
We are all drunk as hell,
We're going home to sleep in our beds.
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