adamprez2003
FinHeaven VIP
Gotta give the guy props. Every day he comes up with a new classic. One more to go after this one
Ode to Perfection: The '72 Dolphins in Verse
The Miami Dolphins of Seventy-Two,
Succeeded at something nobody could do.
They bested all foes and achieved their perfection,
Like Viagra helps old dudes achieve their erection.
They were led by Don Shula and his mighty square jaw,
As they sliced through the league like a circular saw.
Seventeen took the field, though not one stood a chance.
Seventeen took the field, seventeen filled their pants.
From the pocket, Bob Griese threw a beautiful pass,
When injured, they called on Earl Morrall’s old ***.
They teamed up like frat guys, double-teaming some slut,
Through the air they busted metaphorical nut.
'Twas same thing with Jim Kiick and Mercury Morris,
Whose running made other teams’ defenses porous.
Jim Kiick had a moustache just like Fu Manchu.
Mercury Morris liked yeyo, busted in ’82.
On the field, Larry Csonka didn’t take any crap.
In the booth, he called replays for Nitro and Zap.
And don’t forget Gemini, Sunny, and Lace.
And Diamond, whose lats made my c*ck stand in place.
The defensive unit didn't seek any fame,
Perhaps that is why they were given no name.
But their names were screamed loud for the rest of their lives,
By my mom, and your sister, and by Kegstand’s ex-wives.
By the time it was over, they had seventeen wins,
And a Super Bowl victory over the ‘Skins.
Since the team of perfection, it’s been thirty-four years.
Other teams have come close, but the ‘Phins have no peers.
Over three decades later, their egos abound,
So I’ve bought them a champagne enema round!
If only they’d learn to exhibit more class,
They wouldn’t have bubbly all up in their ***.
Ode to Perfection: The '72 Dolphins in Verse
The Miami Dolphins of Seventy-Two,
Succeeded at something nobody could do.
They bested all foes and achieved their perfection,
Like Viagra helps old dudes achieve their erection.
They were led by Don Shula and his mighty square jaw,
As they sliced through the league like a circular saw.
Seventeen took the field, though not one stood a chance.
Seventeen took the field, seventeen filled their pants.
From the pocket, Bob Griese threw a beautiful pass,
When injured, they called on Earl Morrall’s old ***.
They teamed up like frat guys, double-teaming some slut,
Through the air they busted metaphorical nut.
'Twas same thing with Jim Kiick and Mercury Morris,
Whose running made other teams’ defenses porous.
Jim Kiick had a moustache just like Fu Manchu.
Mercury Morris liked yeyo, busted in ’82.
On the field, Larry Csonka didn’t take any crap.
In the booth, he called replays for Nitro and Zap.
And don’t forget Gemini, Sunny, and Lace.
And Diamond, whose lats made my c*ck stand in place.
The defensive unit didn't seek any fame,
Perhaps that is why they were given no name.
But their names were screamed loud for the rest of their lives,
By my mom, and your sister, and by Kegstand’s ex-wives.
By the time it was over, they had seventeen wins,
And a Super Bowl victory over the ‘Skins.
Since the team of perfection, it’s been thirty-four years.
Other teams have come close, but the ‘Phins have no peers.
Over three decades later, their egos abound,
So I’ve bought them a champagne enema round!
If only they’d learn to exhibit more class,
They wouldn’t have bubbly all up in their ***.
