'Twas the Night before Kiffin, And all on TD, All the rantards would wonder, Where would ol' Lane be, And the fans were all drunk,Steady hitting their fifths, Would he coach where Saint Nick did, Or stay at Ol' Piss The Rebels were desp'rately clutching their Egg, As visions of Playoffs would dance in their heads, Would they keep Coach Kiffin, to try for the Natty, Or replace Smelly Kelly, that fraud yankee fatty? The pundits would prognosticate pointless patter, Posters published opinions (as if they would matter.) What choice would Lane make? Where would he take his path? Well, it won't be to Flor'da, (at them we all laugh.) Every show was abuzz about where he would go, Stoked as Joey Freshwater with co-eds and blow, And what we're all wondering would become clear, Which colors could Kiffin coach 'cruits in next year? Would Miss hang a banner and finally click, Or hoist Tiger Natty like mentor, Saint Nick? From out PVC pipe, the yellow smoke came, The Tiger Coachclave still did not have a name, Some fools shouted "Wilson", some dolts wanted O, Some said "Sumrall, Sark, Say-ban!" the morons would crow, With the Iron Bowl blaring, a drunk gump would call, "Rawl Tahd, they're comin' fer Kalen now Pawl!" Like roofs in a summertime hurricane fly, The rumors would swirl as the posters would lie, And right there on Gameday, the pundits lie too, But that wry little elf, ol' Saint Nick, oh he knew... Posters deep into bottles of 90-odd proof, But just Sexton and Kiffin would know the whole truth, But when Auburn went down, with the ball on the ground, Two planes headed for Oxford took off with a bound, The facts, they would grind Rebel hearts 'neath their boots, Kiffin left them to dangle, while taking recruits, He had got them so far, but he wouldn't be back, No more frosted hair tips, no more passing attack, Now their path through the playoffs, the odds were slim, very, To rebel from the Rebels, how vicious, how dare he, But his wry little smile would curl when he'd go, As the Tigers would revel. Rebels "Say it ain't so?" At long last now the secrets and sauces could cease, And the CC Board hamsters could get some relief, Some teams they would curse him, and some would be jelly, Many rantards would gripe, but he's better than Kelly, Saint Nick, he was giddy, that old Aflac Elf, Hoping Lane would claim titles there, much like himself, And so, to Death Valley, ol' Freshwater sped, Ol Piss fans for sure, would be wanting his head, Though quite sparse were his words, he would soon go to work, His new team, restocking, as fans went berserk, And laying a finger, aside of his nose, Did a sniff of good cheer, as his salary rose, To his team gave good luck, to 'Ol Miss, a dismissal, To the Baton Rouge Co-eds he gave a wolf whistle, But we heard him exclaim, as he flew out of sight, "Will I do it again in five years? I just might."
