'Twas the night before draft day and on Legion Drive
Not a creature was sober, Sondey might not even be alive;
Beer cans were strewn on the floor without care,
Dahlia passed out on the couch, Schulman’s jizz in her hair.

Rich and his girlfriend lay silent in bed,
“¿Como se llama?” was all that she said;
With Feets on his elliptical and Brosto hopped up on blow,
Chris Schulman showed up with three retards in tow.

Then in the backyard, I heard a loud noise,
I figured it was Webster, with two little boys.
Away to the window I began to run,
Just in time to see Barnes ruin Sondey’s fun.

The floor was all sticky, there was a stank in the air,
Three dudes in the neighbors’ pool, swimming in the bare.
Then what do I see, my eyes open like pearls,
But a miniature Irishman, and a horde of 16 year old girls.

He was handing out T-shirts, saying he was at work,
I knew in a moment it was Andrew Burke.
He was just like his father, a fun Irish lout,
He hooted and hollered, and called us all out;

"Drink Big Head! Drink Falconi! You don’t have to behave!
Though, I have no Manischewitz! I’m so sorry, Dave!
The rest of you can each have another!
And Big Head, this girl has a good-looking mother!”

With dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Den fired one up and smoke filled the sky,
“I appreciate the thought, and I’m sorry I missed her,
But I only have one love, and that’s Schulman’s little sister.”

There was a low rumble, the floor started to creak,
The sink started to rattle, the pipes began to leak.
I saw a short, stocky man, with a terrible haircut,
He wore a shirt with no sleeves and had one hell of a beer gut.

Carrying a Confederate flag, and a mouth full of tobacco
He said, “I’ll kick your ass later, now Jerry needs a snack-o!”
From a bottle of Wild Turkey, he took tiny sips,
He had some crazy idea to cook with wood chips.

As Jerry packed away chicken like a human garbage disposal,
Rich annoyed everyone with a shitty trade proposal;
He stumbled around, from one person to the next,
How he can always be so drunk still leaves me vexed.

Feets yelled at the bouncer and called him a fag,
And that’s where his plan hit a bit of a snag;
He was pummeled and punched, with the greatest of aim,
Brosto tried to help, but his punch came up lame.

After the fight, they strolled back to the crib,
And found Jerry and Sondey using their pants as a bib;
We all gathered ‘round the table and got ready to draft,
Tomlinson and Portis: good picks, but Chris Simms…we just laughed.

The beer was all free, Heineken picked up the bill,
And afterwards we all fired up the grill;
Then we raided the bar, and all caused a commotion,
Looking for girls to take home, instead of hand lotion.

As the bar closed down, the drunks filled the street,
It was getting real late, and this town was beat.
And then I exclaimed, as we all drove away,
“That was a hell of a draft, and F Sondey!”