Troubadours, I

Here's a little ditty for Azathoth. Sung to the tune of "Alone and Forsaken" by Hank Williams. You're going down:

We meet on the first week, you’re already cold
Your players are gay, like McCain, you’re scheme’s old
Your team was the flower from which your dreams bloom’d
But after the draft you knew you were doom’d.

And now you sit mournful, a loss at your door
Your players stand mock’d; their performance was poor.
At zero-and-one, your hopes start to die
The Troubadours laugh while Azathoth cries.

Bob sucks and he’s takin’ it straight up the ass
Oh shit, here comes Austin
No, wait, that’s just gas.

[repeat ad nauseum]