“YOLO,” said Millennials, and “yeet,” the Zoomers cried
“Rizzler gyatt fanum tax,” the Alphas then replied
And lo, there came a shaking as an ebon spire rose
Upon it writ the tongues of men, their generations’ prose
And from the sky a thund’rous voice called out unto the stone,
As golden letters glowed upon its surface, newly shown:
“RIZZLER GYATT FANUM TAX, SIGMA OHIO SKIBIDI”
And all beheld the words embossed theron in great timidity
With shaking and with wavering voice, the grim refrain began
As all the generations sang the verse at its command
Their weeping and their running sores did nothing to delay
The chanting of that fevered song as night succumbed to day
But rose that morn a blighted sun whose light scoured like a flood
The sky was rent asunder and the rivers turned to blood
Their flesh peeled off in sickly strips, their bones were rendered bare
And still they chanted ever on, the words they uttered there
Until bone and flesh and earth and death were all forgotten things
And still unbidden, undesired, the blackened spire sings
Around it wind the whispers of the souls in its captivity:
“rizzler gyatt fanum tax… sigma ohio skibidi”.
Quoth the Rizzler:
Skibidi dup dup yes yes
Gyatt Ohio Fanum TaxSkibidi dup dup yes yes
Sigma Ligma OhioI met a Sigma from an antique land,
Who said—“a based and gronkless bowl of stone
Skibs in the backrooms. . . . Near it, right on brand,
Half sunk, a shattered rizzler lies, whose frown,
And creaséd drip, and cringe of cold command,
Tell that its streamer well those fashions read
Which yet survive, tagged on these sussy things,
The gyatt that mogged them, and the chat that fled;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
‘My name is Ozyfanumtax, Chad of Chads;
Look on my Ws, ye Redpilled, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Kek, bitchless and bare
Ohio’s level lands edge far away.”
