Yonder Jerkhouse is endeared with salacious hearts,
And I shrug – (its built into their roster),
And there reigns mediocrity and its moving parts,
And those accoutrements which doth fester.
How many vengeful and obsequious tear
Hath mine Jets love injected to mine eyes
And we guessed them superlative as they now appear
And talent gathering strength that hidden in thee lie!
Soft! Jets art the cornbread hell** where hope doth live,
Hung with the expectations of past seasons gone,
Who all my trust in thee to thee did I give;
Trust flow’d from many now is thine alone:
Their scrimmages I loved when I view’d all four lines,
Forward, Scotty and all of ye, maintain thine wins sublime.
** thanks to
@The Blue Baron 

My first southern fried sonnet.