Fallin’ down, they’re out—the third
Game in which they showed off leaden feet.
Boston cheers with delight tonight
’cause Cavs in big defeat.
The Cavs languished like Chicago.
Brooklyn’s Spike Lee keens:
“James to New York City.”

Cavs were beat by Celtics, sweet Celtics,
There were Celtics everywhere—
Wicked defense playin’, Cavs’ record frayin’—
The Cavs in big defeat.

No, he didn’t matter, Cavs’ big player. . .
Wasn’t strong, and so out they’re
’cause every Celtics guy had the urge
To impair the LeBron surge.

The Cavs cavin’,
They’re waving flag, defeat.
So there’s a celebration
In Celtics nation
They dance on Causeway Street.

Philadelphia, P.A. (Philadelphia, P.A.),
Ball he’ll score for D.C. now? (maybe score for D.C. now)
He’ll maybe play in Motor City (maybe play in Motor City)

’cause he’s free, an agent, free agent;
“Sir James” can go anywhere.
Will he muse on stayin’, for the Cavs playin’
Or prance with filthy [lucre] feet? Hmm?

Oh, what uniform will he wear?
Maybe green so he can share
A trophy with the guys who helped purge
Cleveland’s hope to re-emerge.

But they’re trampled
Trampled in defeat.

Wilt, the Celtics? No way! (Wilt, the Celtics? No way!)
Balls and more in all three—down fall the Cleves, who must leave now.
James’ and pals’ play was molto shitty (the Cavs’ play was molto shitty)
Maybe he’ll play in L.A. California,
It’s a western smog-attack dystopia.
Warriors?
Scram to Florida?
Spike’s dick surge. . .
The Knicker’s?!