Listen, my hashers, and you shall hear
Of the FHAC-U takeover of this year,
On the twenty-second of July, it was hared live:
Hardly a hasher did survive
Who remembered the night after pie and beer.

Ska Skank said to her crew, “Make those assholes march
By turkey (or eagle Got Wood’s laid tonight),
Today is Monday makes FRBs search
Cum Test Dummy solving backchecks right,—
One beer by eagle, and two if by turkey;
And Hand Pump far from the keg will be,
Ready to run, Dickweed’s calling on on!
Through SOMA dashing with pack marks drawn,
But Cream Throat Willy on a trail that was gone…

Yet CPA turned right and with muffled roar
Called Pole Her Bare cross 16^th to climb up once more,
Just as Fucker was gasping keeping Buck Fucka at bay,
And virgins were clasping their vests on dislay
Gloryhole sighed at the trunk set ajar:
Queen cried in delight at what they’d run for
Not one pie but two inside the hash car,
And some berries from Sleazy, juicy lips dyed
Made Do Her Well’s satisfaction ten times magnified.

Meanwhile, Dick Simmons, through alley and street
Wanders and makes pics with eager ears,
Till of his GPS tracks the news station hears
The Face of Frida became SFGate lore,
The shape of a rose from his tramping of feet,
But the measured dick of the harriers
Was tragically left on cutting room floor.

So Fuck Norris climbed across overpass arch,
Down back to the park, with Blowfish she tread,
And Three Fingers on the orange food fed,
The Goggler finishing FHAC-U’s favorite starch
Onto sombre circle, that round them made
Darkness falling and hashers looming in shade,—
Even Just Doesn’t Get It seeming steep and tall,
Tuna on Top finally making the call,
To bring Five Angry Inches up for down downs
The Perfect Woman’s birthday bringing renown,
With the moonlight flowing over all.

But behold, here some visitors have tread,
Lifa and Rainbow would give us a thrill,
Mother Hentai and Eyeful Tower feeling the chill
Either Way Yaw Rehire couldn’t dread,
The reception from Just Get It Over With
Who treated each visitor as if from a myth,
The crowd cried with glee “We’ll treat you well!”
Humpy Slocum scoffed—“Only time will tell”
But Blackout would say his legs feel of lead
And even Eat My Pussy will sleep like the dead;
For when the night’s pleasures are over with
Udder Moron revving his bike away,
Slug going back across the bay,—
A line of tired hashers, minds all a float
Like a rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

But with hashing all are impatient to stride,
New ground, Gingervitis and Minor 69er explore with pride,
Fuck Buddy will announce what you want to hear.
A trail set on the Marin’s bay side,
On All Fours will assure you not to fear,
Even Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy crossing the earth,
Will find this trail a longer trip well worth;
The sight from exclusive heights will be a small search
But Cuming Mutha won’t leave you in the lurch,
So come to the Tourist Club on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as we look, onto Mount Tam’s height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
Hares spring to the saddle, flour trails they turn,
Quack Off’s memory lives, and for years left in sight
And our love of Muir Woods Hash still burns!