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Mike Stoops Meets the Crimson Banshee

Aye, Mikey, the Banshee's wailin'.
Closer.  Ever closer.  Spurred by your fears.
And the wailin'; oh, the wailin'.
What to do?  What to do?  The Banshee's drawin' near.

Nay, past deeds are no salvation.
'Tis your fate, Mikey, all but sealed.
And the wailin'; oh, the wailin'.
What to do?  What to do, when our Sooners take the field?

For this Banshee's clad in Crimson;
And the wailin's that of Sooners fans
And their Sooners that you've sadly failed,
Once among the greatest in the land.

Aye, 'tis Malice the Crimson Banshee's wieldin'
There's naught but darkness in your fate;
And the wailin; oh, the wailin'.
Not long will the Crimson Banshee wait.

So, drink deep from your flagon Mikey;
Ease your confusion; rest your mind
From the wailin'; oh, the wailin'
For the Crimson Banshee's never kind.

And when you hear naught but the wailin'
It means the time for leavin's come.
Meantime, the Crimson Banshee's wailin', wailin'
"Fire the bum!  Fire the bum!"

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