Weep not for the fallen wolverine,
Nor days of glory long past.
Tis’ soon the day of reckoning,
And we’re still going to kick their ass.

Surely he is held in long memory,
In the state lying just to our north,
But few tears are shed in Buckeye Town,
Even though this is the state of his birth.

He, of course, was a Buckeye,
We thought him a Buckeye to the bone,
But he jumped in his car and pointed it North,
Toward Michigan, and he never came home.

I don’t think that Woody ever forgave him,
For his betrayal, plain and clear,
And he rarely invited him to dinner,
At the end of the football year.

But the rivalry has been a good one,
And now both Woody and Bo are dead,
But our spirits are bold in the November cold,
Even though we have Jim and Lloyd instead.

So turn an eye to the Horseshoe,
And listen to the passing wind,
Two giants watch over us from heaven I’m sure,
And tomorrow we do battle again.