A stadium near vacant,
A student section hushed,
A fanbase impatient,
A field begging to be rushed.

To Seniors familiar is Three And Nine,
Not a bowl game to remember.
All we ask for is a Divine,
Savior, for our last ember.

Wishing upon sparks ascent
And hours spent combing clovers.
Eyes aground hunting A Lucky cent,
When will this drought be over?

A beacon in the distance,
A Captain with prose of old,
A Colt worn from battle,
Returning evermore bold.

Is This Our Year? I shout aloud.
Go Card, I hear amongst the crowd,
Oski’s head atop the claw.
Fans from Cal scream, AAAAGH!

A whisper, a murmur,
A cheer, a shout.
This is our year,
I’d never doubt.

The Biggest Game, the axe reclaimed?
Can we restore our pride?
I Do Believe, I must proclaim,
For Luck is on our side.