'tis in mad'sens garden one Dolan grow.
Borne nectar of network television,
now noble Knickerbockers, he bewoe.
Those basketballers, who few games have won,
since stated sire's whims be put upon
young York's knackered knights, whose efforts he spites.
Good Ewing left fuming, he bore a ton,
wise woodson abandonded, well 'fore the heights,
sole noble melo, lonely fellow, likes despites.
Hark! We have news of wise Lord Leon, who
in lieu of revolution, the reigns has
come. No further meddling, King Dolan do,
"I desert to desert dome!" instead says.
Freedom from tyranny! Good ground Rose lays.
New table of knights, some archers who toss,
shots off fine fingertips. They're drilling treys
for days, and dunks aplenty, also cross-
ups and ballet too. Finally! Finished with loss,
(fuck Boston byways), we got to love when,
an offensive onslaught comes from this team,
who struggled for centuries, scant of sen-
ce. Seldom salvation seemed, 'til this scheme
shifted it all, all praise the new regime!
Hang soon! New Banner. Hear whole city din,
whispers of Eden, its return the dream.
Where Breen demands Clyde to help call it fin.
That Grand Declaration! "The Finals? The Knicks win."
BANG!