At 22-9-and-62
The going was hot and dirty;
The jocks all swore and popped their crops,
They could smell the scent of Thirty.

Old Hawkster dreamed up four new names
With a persona for each name,
And the dark horse who would make the Kay
Was unknown, jest the same.

And BeeDubEll he wrote a pome,
A reg'l'ar BS fountain
But Bobert he didn't say too much,
Cuz he got confused by countin'.

They were running hard, as the noontime sun
Made a griddle of the day,
But they wouldn't fade, or be dismayed,
Grimly set on Thirty K.