Tomorrow is game day all across Husker land Everyone is excited,the Ducks just don't understand
My bird shot is ready
The remote is in my hand
I promise to yell and go crazy
I will cheer them on as loud as I can
Tomorrow is Gameday
Some ducks are going to die!!!!
  Let's get ready
Let the red balloons fly
It's LINCOLN ........FUCKING ......... NEBRASKA ..........
Now wipe the tears from your eyes
It's go go Huskers until the day I die
      Final HUSKERS 35 Ducks 32
Paul Butters Nov 2015
This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.

In Willy’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of Willy’s beer.

He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.

Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.

They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a fag,
But THAT I’m not repeating.

Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.

Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.

Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters

(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.
As I say, it's Norman's poem - was handwritten by him and embellished by me.
With a paranoid soul,
I stare for hours and hours out of my peephole,
Where beholds a pair of secretive glowing eyes made of gold,
With it being that of a sinister little troll that's had my paranoia at tenfold,
I feel as my whole mind, here, begins to fold and nearly implode,
With my emotions no longer being able to go with the flow,
I decide to walk away, undress, and then snort a line of coke,
Followed by taking a hit of meth while I put on my bulletproof vest,
Oh, and yes!–surely if it's a fight that these little demons want to see,
Then it'll be a fight that I'll bring outside where I'll make them all regret ever trying to mess with me,
For no longer will I hide and allow them to whisper to me from my lone tree,
No!–For I will tell them all "I'll no longer be the one to carry out their evil little deeds",
And I will tell them that statement with a knife while rushing at their golden-eyed chief,
You know, just so there's no question of my authority,
Though, with a few steps outside, I see no pair of golden eyes within my vicinity,
Oh, and with "Such lies and deceit!" being the words that I have just screamed,
I hear a whisper whispering to me (as it's whispering from my only tree)
Where I decide to scream, "Oh, and you will not be making a mockery of me!",
Though, with nothing but a chuckle (as I know this voice is chuckling at me)
I pick up an apple and throw it directly at my lonely little tree,
There!–hearing with a loud screech and seeing a shadowy creature drop beneath,
It's with the sight of a hundred pairs of golden eyes lighting up my scenery,
And surely with my paranoia spiked to the highest degree,
I begin to wonder is this all in my mind? Though, I decide to entrust in my feet,
Where I run, and see this beast begin to chase after me,
I race towards my door, with it being "Bloody murder!" that I scream,
As it's with this peep hole, once again, and just like before consuming all that my eyes see,
I hear that whisper once more, hearing as that whisper turns into a roar,
And hearing as it tells me–like it's told me before,
That "Methamphetamine really isn't fun anymore"
Poking fun at my
Insecurities will pop
My helium heart

Like a balloon; I
Can only take so much, I
Have bursted open

The pressure killed
  Me-
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I've had enough to drink, I guess
But I might as well finish the rest
Will you follow me here?
It may be dark but it's oh so clear

It's a mighty fine day outside
So I should stay inside
Watch the lights beat on my window
And imagine how the wind blows

Come one, come all, come dancing
Someone out there is laughing
Is it at me? I can't see
I shouldn't have left my seat

Must everything be so perfect?
If so, then nothing is worth it
I like imperfections, expands my selection
There's no flawless affection
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