When Did Hullabaloo become Hullaba-boo? A Critical Poem

I’m sorry to inform you, of a sorrowful tale
That our dear Aggie traditions, are starting to fail.
We all know the Spirit, which can ne’er be told,
But it seems that New Army has put it on hold
I noticed it first at this past weekend’s trial
As an Ag on the out, t’was my last game at Kyle.
I came in nostalgic, my heart full of pride,
But after my visit, I was sure that I died.
The Aggies I love, the traditions I treasured,
They lay at my feet, defeated and weathered.
The hisses of old, to show our distaste,
Replaced by boos, a change that I hate.
We’ve become lousy, our birds we are flippin’.
All I can utter is “Homies, you trippin’!”
The words in our language, integrity fading,
If we were a movie, we’d get an R rating!
That Good Ag, Ol’ Rock, he would call you a punk
When you show up to games, completely piss drunk.
Those LSU Tigers, whose crudeness is famous,
The fact we were worse should do nothing but shame us.
Now please, Man of the Twelfth, do not simply stand idle
And let our good nature become suicidal!
So hold back your slurs, try not to get rowdy,
Just shut your dang mouth if you’re not going to “Howdy!”

-Beutel Call