There once was a thing called the shoot

All thought that it would be a hoot

Congrats to J. Schanker

He will be our anchor

For you all of us' do root.

We stayed up 'till 7 a.m.

Arguing this, that and them

It was oh so bloody

But it was not too muddy

And now we're left hacking up phlegm.

The Crimson elections are painful

We wish our praise could be more gainful

We wish them all well,

We are all drunk as hell,

We're going home to sleep in our beds.