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’ 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’ 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 left against Princeton, sent your team down to the wire (WAS IT LEFT OR RIGHT?)

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”

We’ll end it here before you start to whimper and jeer 

But to the writers at the Yale Daily News, listen closely now, dears

Good luck this weekend because you’re going to need it 

Listen closely, through your high society fog, because we submit

That when we come to New Haven, we’ll spoil your whole year