Shut off the TV, turn off my phone,
I'd rather now be just left alone.
I'll now keep my visage green and glum;
Bring out the coffin, the season's done.
Brett Favre's now throwing whate'er o'erhead
Scribbling on the sky this pass is dead.
No matter what comes of sweat and blood,
We've got as much shot as Elmer Fudd.
They are AFC East, belov'd best
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My 1pm, my 4pm song;
This season seemed hopeful: I was wrong.
Chad Pennington is really the man;
A great gift for my enemy's fans,
We strove for glory with Brett Favre's name.
But the result was much of the same.