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As
I drew in my head, and was turning aroun',
a fan dressed like Santa stormed by with a frown.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his knees,
he pleaded and begged, I'd like a win if you please.
But a fury of scoring by all the Kings men,
brought the score to a new high, my boys up by ten.
O'Neal
was still moaning to the powers that be,
His eye hit my elbow, and his groin hit my knee,
you must make these Kings stop pickin' on me!?
The officials they bend cause it brings a good rating,
They must let Shaq score, and it's them that he's baiting.
Phil
Jackson pipes in, and clenches his teeth,
angry white smoke circles his head like a wreath.
He screams at the ref with the little round belly,
when he's gifted the 'T', he shakes like mint jelly.
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I
was taunting and laughing, at this right silly old elf,
and I cringed when he saw me, in spite of myself.
A twitch of his eye, an evil twist of the head,
P.J. was * ed off, I had reason to dread.
He spoke not a word, but continued his work,
a three pointer by Jackson, made him turn with a jerk.
The buzzer then signaled an end to this beating,
I cried out in joy, 'NO NEW RINGS, NO REPEATING.'
And
laying his finger straight up in the air,
he saluted me good, right then and right there.
Phil sprang to the tunnel, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down on a thistle.
Those Lakers were mad, all their eyes red and misty,
I wondered out loud, 'Hey, will they all jump Doug Christie?'
'Ho-Ho-Ho',
I was quick to exclaim, ere they snuck out of sight,
'You Lakers were beaten with nerry a fight,
So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,
The Kings are the real champs, you know that I'm right.'
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