These wounded soldiers on the table,
Couldn't finish, weren't able,
Swayed by a first year's--
Well, her blush, or not perhaps,
Perhaps her butt
The jacks and queens across the floor,
Spades and hearts, they are no more
Inserted in a beer can's top
'Til anticipated Jenga pop.
The jacks and queens across the floor,
Some to sleep before the dawn
-Those who couldn't crush no more-
Those who could, they got it on.
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