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Oh Eli, last year you fumbled your roast
Sent it over preemptively, we had a sick toast
This year we don’t need the edge
We fully embrace beating you fair and square, we do pledge
That a comeback on the field we will boast
We’re laughing that Toads’s main attraction
Is a former DJ-ing member of the Harvard faction
Won’t see us waiting in the line, it’ll be automatic
Our Pudding alum has us down as VIPs, pretty ecstatic
Meanwhile, your pudding (fingers) alum gets no traction
Some say that you were set up to fail
Ivy League pre-season favorites, your efforts were to no avail
Started from the bottom now we’re here
We’re the real dawgs, our wins are earning us cheers
You can’t even fill your stadium, the architecture school couldn’t make it to scale
Heard Coach Reno’s son was highly scouted
Guess he’s going to South Carolina, what, roster’s getting too crowded?
Bold choice leaving the offense to Grooms
We’ll keep it civil, this is a newsroom
But his run for an Offensive player repeat indeed is doubted
Nolan might think he can fire up the dogs with a speech
Like Clinton though, his words will only impeach
A student body that could honestly claim to have never had relations
So many nights working out with friends, getting out your frustrations
Pass protection is the only type you need, nothing else is being breached
Win or loss, either way we come out on top
We know from Miss Abby Lee Miller that second is quite the flop
The first to lose, Elis know all too well
We have a class on T-Swift, so we can tell
That when you sing “I remember it all too well,” you mean your Harvard rejection letter, nonstop
For us, karma is the new guy on the scene coming straight home to me
We know our rookie Craig’s a stud, that you can see
Take Taylor’s advice: breathe in, breathe through
#10 is a 10, so take this loss as a cue
That from Grooms’s greasy flow, Harvard girls will flee
The Lake Wiley native slumps in the pocket, wily he’s not
While we’ve got our own man Wiley Beckett, his disco record was just bought
Your judicial alumnus’s personal record is not automatic
But his most famous line is from a remix which is most climactic
“I like beer,” thousands cheer; singing to the words of the hot shot
Jack Bosman has a fun name, our writer was inspired
But his kicks leave a lot to be desired
Sailed one wide against Princeton, sent your team down to the wire
Yips we can smell, where there’s smoke there’s an inevitable (mis)fire
When he steps up to kick, we’ll all take cover, his squib will be duly admired
Dead fish on the ice still smells better than New Haven
At the rink, or The Bowl, how the mighty have fallen, these losses in our memory are graven
Lose to Cornell? That was only you it seems; on risky ground you now tread
May you have good luck sparring against the terrifyingly dominant O-line we have bred,
Its “eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s” as Poe the Bostonian wrote in “The Raven”
