The Great Loss
first and ten on the 40yrd line a we review the plan we approach the symbol to all a the battle cry be say in the head we begin to brawl a the crowd be instill with awe we hit then growl be hear a we scowl the buffalo a we with spear in hand we make them hear moan and groan a we push throgh there defense's we go through like a mac truck to a picket fence the whistle sound we move ten yard but we frown we could do good than that clock at ten to go let's do it again then go home we arrive at the linethe cry of battle sound the crowd hold tight we fight the clock sound but the play be not dead tho instead the whistle sound we lay in the frost of the crisp autuam day we look at a unemaginable fright we lose the ball be no where in sight