Dogfish falls across the land
The Punkin Ale is close at hand
Creatures crawl in search of brew
While Buffalo Bill haunts the chosen few
And whosoever shall be found
At the Lakefront getting down
Must stand and face the Southern Tier Pumking
And fell the Monster with a Chunkin swing
The Punk’n stench is in the air
The funk of Four+ years
And Vermonsters rise from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller
R.I.P. MJ