‘Twas the night before game day, when all through OUR house, Tailgaters were partying, chanting "WHOSE HOUSE!" The coolers were packed with ice cold beer, In hopes that kick-off would soon be here.
The coeds were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of Ham, Peterson and national championships danced in their heads. Southern belles in there game day dresses and boys wearing their GSU caps, Had just returned home from the Square for a long night cap.
When out at Eagle Creek there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my tailgating chair to see what was the matter. Away to the practice field I flew like Foster, number four, Through defenses and records he tore.
The moon shone down on the Banks of Eagle Creek Lit up the foggy scene and made my knees grow weak. Then to what did my tearful eye stare? But two, old yellow school buses in need of repair. With tattered seats and floorboards gone, Came the sweet sound of that old "Valley Song." The opponents would change, but history would not. Six national championships and a chip on our shoulder we've got.
With a tough ole QB, too tired to moan, I knew in a moment it must be the return of the vaunted flexbone. As rapid as the Eagles who already played the game, Coach Monken pushed them, shouted, and called them by name!
"Fire off the ball and be sure to stay low! Hand-it off! Pitch it! Or Keep it and go!” Through the line! Down the field! In to the end zone! What a sight to behold! The spread triple option out of the flexbone!
The days of practice are over, the preseason is set to expire. For tomorrow those buses will start with a loud backfire, The boys of fall will pack in and head to Paulson, To be greeted by a chorus of horns singing in unison. The buses will stop, the team will unload, With fire in their eyes they'll be ready to explode, Greeting Southern faithful with a smile and a slap of the hand, To the sweet sounds of the Southern Pride Marching Band.
They will be dressed in full gear, navy and white, Grey facemasks and plain pants, no stripe. Numbers on their helmets hearken back to the times of Erk Russell, THE BALD EAGLE with whom you would not tussle.
The team will take the field ready to attack. Tradition is restored, the triple option is back. Old fans will smile and happily reminisce. New students will be taught the offense that has been amiss.
The crowd will look up, and let out a roar When Freedom lights up the sky with his pregame soar. Fans look across the field to prepare, For a Paulson tradition that may no other compare.
The chants of "GEORGIA" and "SOUTHERN" bandied to and fro With another in the wings, shortly to follow. The time is here. The home crowd roars "WHOSE HOUSE." Every opponent that enters knows that this is "OUR HOUSE."
As the kick-off draws near, fans pack in tight, Paulson is filled, the team is on the field ready to fight. Listen to the chants, hear them pine, We're ready to GATA "Just one more time!"