'Twas the month before Christmas and through the Rose Garden
It was quiet enough to hear arteries harden
The dancers adjusted their halters with care
But most of the Blazer fans just weren't there

The players were hanging out by the garage
For Damon the Dealer and his entourage
He claimed he no longer was inhaling weed
But his teammates were hoping he had what they need

Young Qyntel had visions that danced in his head
Of sugarplums? No, it was ganja instead
He'd suck on a blunt and yell "Who's your daddy?"
From the passenger window of Zach Randolph's Caddy

Well, I threw out my headband and banged with my fist
And burned season tickets to show I was p*ssed
I'd root for the millionaires working for Cuban
Not Rasheed the headcase, or wife beater Ruben

My anger grew greatly in those long, dark weeks
And I surely felt pity for poor Maurice Cheeks
These guys lived in mansions, but they deserved cells
'Cause they all were no-good-niks, especially Wells

But then a great miracle halted my cursin'
A stunning white knight by the name Wesley Person
A bit old perhaps, but he can shoot the 3
And he's never been fined, not even a T

I guess the new GM is not such a dope
I guess that I shouldn't have given up hope
Soon he'll send Wallace back to Pennsylvania
And I can go back to my old Blazermania

I'm not a bandwagoner, no not a bit
I simply got tired of sitting in sh*t
So until they're cleaned up, I'll stay home with a nog
And say "Happy Christmas" to all on this blog