Brilliant work by ndoldtown at NDNation. Mine eyes have seen the glory of no touchdowns on the board, ND trampled down the college where the stalks of maize are stored, They thought Bama's D was frightening, but now even less they've scored, Their offense was so wan. Glory, Denard, Hallelujah! Hey defense, he'll throw it to ya! Four I-N-T's, that should do ya! His luck at last has gone. Teo set aside his grief so on Denard's face he could stamp, Punked by Notre Dame, you still can be a third-rate Big Ten champ, Touchdown Jesus' righteous sentence? Drop football, try tennis camp, Heisman invite, withdrawn. Glory, Manti, Hallelujah! Glory, Manti, Hallelujah! Glory, Manti, Hallelujah! Pure heart has made him strong. With superior SAT scores, and integrity complete, Irish players are the model with which Blue cannot compete, After football they will pump gas and sell apples in the street, And some will just mow lawns. Jock plantation, Hallelujah! Kinesiology too, yeah! Not much learning coming to ya! And no graduation. I have read Bo's fiery Gospel, but there's much it did conceal, Like the academic fraud his friend Jim Harbaugh did reveal, And the championship and bowl win plans that never did congeal, Its good that Bo is gone. Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! Bo, Paterno, you just knew, yeah. . . In hell, where they belong. When they're sounding forth The Victors, seven notes they just repeat, If the song had more than ten, they'd have to count them with their feet, But the dirge they could not play because their offense was mincemeat, The Victory March is on. Bore me dull band, Hallelujah! Have to tell you, Hallelujah! Learning more tunes would behoove ya! Yours is a puerile song. Immigrants gave Yost the willies; "In Big Ten you cannot be", So we'll keep our football money and play hoops in ACC, By the way, Hoke looks like Christie, but with brains from Rick Perry, He writes with a crayon. Big Ten Conference, Hallelujah! Rust Belt fanbase, who'll employ ya? Land-grant decline paranoia! Greatness pretensions gone. ND's coming like the glory of the morning on the wave, She is wisdom to the mighty, She is succor to the brave, ND is God's mom's favorite, Ann Arbor, an open grave, Her truth is marching on. Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! Her truth is marching on.