Twas the day before Iron Bowl, and all through the South,
not a Bammer was silent; all running their mouths.
Gameday stage built, campus prepared,
for Lee, Kirk, and Desmond to last year compare.
The fans were all nervous, their stomachs were sick,
while Tigers remembered that 'Punt Bama' kick!
Bammers in houndstooth (dress, tattoo or cap),
"Long live the Bear!" they continue to yap.
All through the Plains there arose such a clatter,
As RVs, fans, tv crews, arrive and then scatter.
On the corner of campus, there are many a flash,
Camera shutters capture Toomer's, ruined by white trash.
The sun on the tower of Samford Hall,
Gave the lustre of Gameday to all things football.
When, what to our wondering ears should we hear,
Bama claims two more national titles (they do every year).
With their evil coach, to represent all the hicks,
They praise their 'dear' coach, and call him "St. Nick."
On the opposite sideline, Gene holds the flame,
He whistles, and shouts, and calls them by name;
"Now, McCalebb! now, Frazier! now, Thorpe and Blake!
On, Lutzi! on Moseley! on Dyer, for goodness sake!
To the top of the quarter! To the In be the All!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away with the ball!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to Game time, the tension did mount.
and still with their trophies, the Bammers miscount.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard it at noon.
The wonderful, glorious, most beautiful tune.
As I turned my head, and towards the sound.
The bells of Samford, 'War Eagle' surrounds.
Aubie all dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
As he prances on campus; elephants underfoot.
Every year the same pressure, the 'game of the season,'
To outside fans, they don't get the reason.
Last year attention was brought by one fan: Updyke,
there are many words to describe him, including 'dislike.'
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a rat,
And the beard of his chin was as dirty as his Bama tat;
The stump of a cigarette he held tight in his teeth,
As he poured poison on our tree, all the way down beneath;
He had a broad face and a huge round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a selfish, hateful man,
Despised by many, in the AU family clan.
Despite his deed, and his harm to our tree,
there is one thing tomorrow you will see...
The eagle will soar through Jordan Hare,
The AU players will take a knee for a prayer.
The stands will fill to capacity with loyal and true,
Cheering forever for their orange and their blue.
The refs will take field, to the teams, give a whistle,
And away the ball flies like the down of a thistle.
We will hear fans exclaim, (yes, even a grandma)
"Rammer Jammer, Yellow Hammer, Go to Hell, Alabama!"