Amaro, and Amaro, and Amaro,
Fleeces these many trades from Wade to Wade
To the last prospect of recorded time;
And all our yestertrades have leveraged tools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
This team’s but a walking shadow, with poor players
That strut and fret their hours upon the field
And soon are heard no more. It is a team
Run by an idiot, should of traded J-Roll
About to win nothing.