Post by Daimon Darren on Feb 14, 2019 19:27:18 GMT -4
“UA is the best and the others suck!
(UA is the best and the others suck!)
To the brits n' the fritz we say fuck!
(To the brits n' the fritz we say fuck!)
Ah-give me some! (Ah-give me some!)
UA! (Training!) UA! (Fighting!)
Good for you! (Good for you!) And bad for them! (Bad for them!)
UA! (UA!)
Best damn school’s in the rising run!
(Best damn school’s in the rising run!)
Ain’t no place here for no lazin’ bums!
(Ain’t no place here for no lazin’ bums!)
Not with us, you son of a bitch?
(Not with us, you son of a bitch?)
Picked the wrong school fool, you’re endin’ up in a ditch!
(Picked the wrong school fool, you’re endin’ up in a ditch!)”
(set to the dulcet tunes of Gunnery Sergeant Hartmann)
(UA is the best and the others suck!)
To the brits n' the fritz we say fuck!
(To the brits n' the fritz we say fuck!)
Ah-give me some! (Ah-give me some!)
UA! (Training!) UA! (Fighting!)
Good for you! (Good for you!) And bad for them! (Bad for them!)
UA! (UA!)
Best damn school’s in the rising run!
(Best damn school’s in the rising run!)
Ain’t no place here for no lazin’ bums!
(Ain’t no place here for no lazin’ bums!)
Not with us, you son of a bitch?
(Not with us, you son of a bitch?)
Picked the wrong school fool, you’re endin’ up in a ditch!
(Picked the wrong school fool, you’re endin’ up in a ditch!)”
(set to the dulcet tunes of Gunnery Sergeant Hartmann)
Ah, the delicate art of song-writing. Truly UA was blessed with a master of the craft in the person of Daimon Darren.
This little marching song he thought up a while ago when running with Kirk and Akio, back when the whole 1-A VS 1-C meme was going strong. The former was the one being antagonized by the lyrics, but like all great songs, it adapted with the times. Now it was a musical diss of the foreign schools, based on absolutely nothing but the lead delinquent of 1-C wanting to yeet on his opponents.
It was sung by Darren who had a surprisingly competent singing voice, and then bellowed in unison by the dozen or so students and visitors he roped into a morning run. Eli -- he woke up his new roommate with his song -- Miyu, who was trailing behind, Risaka from his class, Taylor, the Latin boxer, Saito the bishie king, Discord Girl Arisu and more trailed behind the cheerful delinquent. Some were too embarrassed to repeat his stupid song; others just mouthed the insults or said frick and heck. Those who were still going, anyway. They were now entering the third lap around the school and more than half of the people who were here at the beginning had dropped.
“And done!” he shouted triumphantly when the lap was, well, done. He turned to face his followers, most of them red-faced and short of breath, some having done admirably well, other were trailing behind but still ran the distance, which earned them Darren’s loud encouragements as he verbally pushed them to the finish line.
That was only the first item’s in the delinquent’s training course. The tournament and the obstacle course were getting close and today would be one of the last days of training. Tomorrow, the tournament brackets would be drawn. Soon there would be fighting of the kind which allowed Darren to show his true colors, but for now, he was the goofy delinquents antagonizing four schools with one song. All for the meme.
The next item on the list was sandbag practice, so after congratulating everyone for not being little bitches who can’t even run three laps -- even boyo could! -- he trotted happily in the direction of the martial arts clubroom.
The large square room was open to the public in these festival days, and since there were a few onlookers around, it was with a big grin that Darren headed for the nearest sandbag, tapped it with his left glove, gauged the distance, exhaled, took a stance, and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“DORYAAAA!”
A straight to take a head off flew from his guard and crashed on the sandbag, buckling up the poor thing who never asked for the terrible treatment Darren gave it every day. He always picked the same bag to see when it would break. It had stood strong for half a year of this treatment now, which among sandbags was nothing short of a heroic feat.
This little marching song he thought up a while ago when running with Kirk and Akio, back when the whole 1-A VS 1-C meme was going strong. The former was the one being antagonized by the lyrics, but like all great songs, it adapted with the times. Now it was a musical diss of the foreign schools, based on absolutely nothing but the lead delinquent of 1-C wanting to yeet on his opponents.
It was sung by Darren who had a surprisingly competent singing voice, and then bellowed in unison by the dozen or so students and visitors he roped into a morning run. Eli -- he woke up his new roommate with his song -- Miyu, who was trailing behind, Risaka from his class, Taylor, the Latin boxer, Saito the bishie king, Discord Girl Arisu and more trailed behind the cheerful delinquent. Some were too embarrassed to repeat his stupid song; others just mouthed the insults or said frick and heck. Those who were still going, anyway. They were now entering the third lap around the school and more than half of the people who were here at the beginning had dropped.
“And done!” he shouted triumphantly when the lap was, well, done. He turned to face his followers, most of them red-faced and short of breath, some having done admirably well, other were trailing behind but still ran the distance, which earned them Darren’s loud encouragements as he verbally pushed them to the finish line.
That was only the first item’s in the delinquent’s training course. The tournament and the obstacle course were getting close and today would be one of the last days of training. Tomorrow, the tournament brackets would be drawn. Soon there would be fighting of the kind which allowed Darren to show his true colors, but for now, he was the goofy delinquents antagonizing four schools with one song. All for the meme.
The next item on the list was sandbag practice, so after congratulating everyone for not being little bitches who can’t even run three laps -- even boyo could! -- he trotted happily in the direction of the martial arts clubroom.
The large square room was open to the public in these festival days, and since there were a few onlookers around, it was with a big grin that Darren headed for the nearest sandbag, tapped it with his left glove, gauged the distance, exhaled, took a stance, and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“DORYAAAA!”
A straight to take a head off flew from his guard and crashed on the sandbag, buckling up the poor thing who never asked for the terrible treatment Darren gave it every day. He always picked the same bag to see when it would break. It had stood strong for half a year of this treatment now, which among sandbags was nothing short of a heroic feat.
