In the grand halls of Boston, where the banners fly,
The legends dwell, where heroes never die.
The Celtics stand on the cusp of their reign,
In green and white, their glory shall remain.
Hail, Jayson Tatum, our protagonist bold,
A warrior on the hardwood, a story to be told.
He dances through defenses, takes no prisoners in sight,
With every step, he brings the fans' delight.
And by his side, Jaylen Brown stands proud,
Once underestimated, now cheered by the crowd.
His mind is sharp, his game is fire,
Fueled by disrespect, he rises ever higher.
Derrick White, unheralded, a knight in disguise,
With defensive brilliance, he astounds and surprises.
In moments of need, when the stakes are dire,
He makes the shot that sets hearts afire.
Jrue Holiday, the newcomer, wise and keen,
With a basketball IQ rarely seen.
He sees the play before it unfolds,
With sublime defense, his legend molds.
Al Horford, the elder, the leader serene,
With wisdom and grace, he's Boston's sheen.
A championship dream, elusive but near,
Today he fights, without a trace of fear.
Kristaps Porzingis, the unicorn's might,
Though injured now, he's Boston's knight.
At 7'2", with a shot so pure,
His presence inside, a defense secure.
But hark, the Mavericks, with Luka their beast,
Out of shape and foul, his whining won't cease.
Though he shoots with precision, with his defensive lack,
A petulant child, with an honor that fails to track.
And Kyrie Irving, the turncoat, the snake,
Once a Celtic, now a traitor to forsake.
With handles like magic, and a shot so fine,
Yet his betrayal marks him, a serpent's line.
The Mavericks, like Lucifer, evil they stand,
Against the righteous Celtics, God's own hand.
A maverick horse, once proud and grand,
Euthanized by Lucky, his cane in hand.
We mourn Bill Walton, a gentle soul,
Injured often, but his spirit whole.
A legend of '86, carefree and kind,
In the annals of Celtics, forever enshrined.
Larry Bird and Bill Russell, deities revered,
Their path of winning, forever endeared.
Bill watching from above, their spirits inspire,
The Celtics to greatness, their eternal fire.
Tonight, in Game 5, the stage is set,
For Boston's triumph, their finest yet.
The Mavericks, fallen, in darkness they'll roam,
While the Celtics rise, reclaiming their throne.
FUCKING WIN 18 RIGHT HERE AND NOW.
The legends dwell, where heroes never die.
The Celtics stand on the cusp of their reign,
In green and white, their glory shall remain.
Hail, Jayson Tatum, our protagonist bold,
A warrior on the hardwood, a story to be told.
He dances through defenses, takes no prisoners in sight,
With every step, he brings the fans' delight.
And by his side, Jaylen Brown stands proud,
Once underestimated, now cheered by the crowd.
His mind is sharp, his game is fire,
Fueled by disrespect, he rises ever higher.
Derrick White, unheralded, a knight in disguise,
With defensive brilliance, he astounds and surprises.
In moments of need, when the stakes are dire,
He makes the shot that sets hearts afire.
Jrue Holiday, the newcomer, wise and keen,
With a basketball IQ rarely seen.
He sees the play before it unfolds,
With sublime defense, his legend molds.
Al Horford, the elder, the leader serene,
With wisdom and grace, he's Boston's sheen.
A championship dream, elusive but near,
Today he fights, without a trace of fear.
Kristaps Porzingis, the unicorn's might,
Though injured now, he's Boston's knight.
At 7'2", with a shot so pure,
His presence inside, a defense secure.
But hark, the Mavericks, with Luka their beast,
Out of shape and foul, his whining won't cease.
Though he shoots with precision, with his defensive lack,
A petulant child, with an honor that fails to track.
And Kyrie Irving, the turncoat, the snake,
Once a Celtic, now a traitor to forsake.
With handles like magic, and a shot so fine,
Yet his betrayal marks him, a serpent's line.
The Mavericks, like Lucifer, evil they stand,
Against the righteous Celtics, God's own hand.
A maverick horse, once proud and grand,
Euthanized by Lucky, his cane in hand.
We mourn Bill Walton, a gentle soul,
Injured often, but his spirit whole.
A legend of '86, carefree and kind,
In the annals of Celtics, forever enshrined.
Larry Bird and Bill Russell, deities revered,
Their path of winning, forever endeared.
Bill watching from above, their spirits inspire,
The Celtics to greatness, their eternal fire.
Tonight, in Game 5, the stage is set,
For Boston's triumph, their finest yet.
The Mavericks, fallen, in darkness they'll roam,
While the Celtics rise, reclaiming their throne.
FUCKING WIN 18 RIGHT HERE AND NOW.
