The UCLA Bruins
Left the Trojans in ruins
Scores from Vanderdoes and Jack
Started the Bruin attack
Brett Hundley ran in two more
Then Perkins added a score
Jim Mora is 2-for-2
Congrats to the boys in blue
UCLA keeps the bell
U$c can go to hell
I love Joe Bruin, so of course
I don’t like Tommy or his horse
Another thing I just can’t stand
I really hate the Trojan band
The goose stepping and sunglasses
Make them look like total asses
Fight On and Conquest get so old
The best band wears the blue and gold
There once was a Trojan named Tommy
Who had a weird thing for his mommy
They played hide and seek
At least twice a week
And what they hid was his salami
The Bruins of UCLA
Are gearing up for Saturday
The Trojans are their greatest foe
They hate each other even though
They might be sister or brother
Or live next door to each other
So they build a giant tower
That will make the Trojans cower
Then they will set it on fire
And make the Trojans perspire
When the Bruins win on game day
They’ll be the best team in LA
Took a walk around the park
Got home before it was dark
Chowed down on tasty tri-tip
Then some egg nog we did sip
Just another Saturday
That we spent in our own way
It was 50 years ago today
John F. Kennedy was on his way
Through Dealey Plaza in the Big D
When he was shot with John Connally
Whether Oswald was the one to blame
The country has never been the same
A Drunken Man’s Praise Of Sobriety
By William Butler Yeats
Come swish around, my pretty punk,
And keep me dancing still
That I may stay a sober man
Although I drink my fill.
Sobriety is a jewel
That I do much adore;
And therefore keep me dancing
Though drunkards lie and snore.
O mind your feet, O mind your feet,
Keep dancing like a wave,
And under every dancer
A dead man in his grave.
No ups and downs, my pretty,
A mermaid, not a punk;
A drunkard is a dead man,
And all dead men are drunk.
You might not fulfill every wish
You can’t partake from every dish
You might not get to do that jaunt
You can’t always get what you want
If you keep the prize in your sight
There’s a chance it’ll turn out right
Even if your plans don’t succeed
You might find you get what you need
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
There’s something special ’bout a ring
They’re more than a symbolic thing
You give one to say “I love you”
You get one, and you say “I do”
It can bestow mighty powers
A gold band changes mine to ours
A wedding ring proves nothing more
Than you’re with the one you adore
There’s more insanity from Tom Cruise?
It’s nothing but crazy that he spews
He claims his job as a leading man
Is like fighting in Afghanistan
It’s well past time we forgot this slouch
Whose best role was jumping on a couch
When I’m wearing a frown
You turn it upside down
If I feel sad or blue
You’re the one I turn to
If my spirits are low
It’s to you that I go
Upon you I depend
You’re my forever friend
I met a jerk who was smaller
He asked if I was a baller
So I grabbed him by the collar
He began to shout and holler
I’m not usually a brawler
I would say I am a scholar
But I almost was a mauler
‘Cause this douchebag was a trawler
Like a troll living in squalor
Not a man, more like a crawler
Who begs his mom for a dollar
It turned out he was the bawler
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset’s gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind weaves thro’ the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral pow’r
Spreads sleep o’er the cosmic throne
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb’s black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penn’d,
For the hounds of Time to rend.