’Twas the night before kickoff, and all through the state,
The Aggies were ready; they couldn’t wait.
The cowbells were hung by the bonfire with care,
In hopes that a Longhorn would soon wander there.
The students were nestled all snug in their dorms,
Dreaming of touchdowns and wrecking crew storms.
And I in my maroon, with a brisket in tow,
Had just cracked a Shiner—our good luck, you know.
When out on the Quad, there arose such a yell,
I sprang from my tailgate, nearly tripped and fell.
Away to Kyle Field, I flew like a jet,
To witness the tradition no one can forget.
The Midnight Yell echoed, the crowd full of cheer,
Aggie spirit alive—it’s the best time of year!
With farmers and soldiers and Aggies galore,
We roared for the team who would soon run the score.
Now Reveille barked, and the cadets stood tall,
While tailgaters feasted on BBQ haul.
From brisket to sausage, the smokers did waft,
With shots at Dry Bean, the night wasn’t soft.
“On Reed! On Daniels! On Owens, run it through!
Let’s hang fifty points, maybe seventy-two!”
The Longhorns showed up with their burnt-orange pride,
But the Aggie offense was ready to glide.
Their quarterback stumbled, their defense fell flat,
Their coach on the sideline just threw down his hat.
While over at Kyle, we all sang the War Hymn,
As A&M crushed them—it was looking quite grim.
The final score read like a dream Aggies wrote:
“Texas A&M, 63—Texas, no hope.”
The Longhorns skulked off with their tails tucked low,
While Aggies danced under the maroon-glowing glow.
So here’s to tradition, to Yell Leaders loud,
To tailgates, to BBQ, and the 12th Man crowd.
And as I took one last swig of my brew,
I shouted, “Gig ’em, Aggies—and WHOOP! We beat the shit out of you!”
The Aggies were ready; they couldn’t wait.
The cowbells were hung by the bonfire with care,
In hopes that a Longhorn would soon wander there.
The students were nestled all snug in their dorms,
Dreaming of touchdowns and wrecking crew storms.
And I in my maroon, with a brisket in tow,
Had just cracked a Shiner—our good luck, you know.
When out on the Quad, there arose such a yell,
I sprang from my tailgate, nearly tripped and fell.
Away to Kyle Field, I flew like a jet,
To witness the tradition no one can forget.
The Midnight Yell echoed, the crowd full of cheer,
Aggie spirit alive—it’s the best time of year!
With farmers and soldiers and Aggies galore,
We roared for the team who would soon run the score.
Now Reveille barked, and the cadets stood tall,
While tailgaters feasted on BBQ haul.
From brisket to sausage, the smokers did waft,
With shots at Dry Bean, the night wasn’t soft.
“On Reed! On Daniels! On Owens, run it through!
Let’s hang fifty points, maybe seventy-two!”
The Longhorns showed up with their burnt-orange pride,
But the Aggie offense was ready to glide.
Their quarterback stumbled, their defense fell flat,
Their coach on the sideline just threw down his hat.
While over at Kyle, we all sang the War Hymn,
As A&M crushed them—it was looking quite grim.
The final score read like a dream Aggies wrote:
“Texas A&M, 63—Texas, no hope.”
The Longhorns skulked off with their tails tucked low,
While Aggies danced under the maroon-glowing glow.
So here’s to tradition, to Yell Leaders loud,
To tailgates, to BBQ, and the 12th Man crowd.
And as I took one last swig of my brew,
I shouted, “Gig ’em, Aggies—and WHOOP! We beat the shit out of you!”
