Sophomore year
You rushed for an average of eight and a third yards per carry
All eyes were on you
Junior year
Blew your knee out at an out-of-town game
Nowhere to go but down, down, down
Nothing but the ground left for you to fall to

By July
You'd made a whole bunch of brand new friends
People you used to look down on
And you'd figured out a way to make real money
Giving ends to your friends and it felt stupendous
Chrome spokes on your Japanese bike

But selling acid was a bad idea
And selling it to a cop was a worse one
The new laws said that seventeen-year-olds could do federal time
And you were the first one

So I sing this song for you
William Staniforth Donahue,
Your grandfather rode the boat over from Ireland
But you made a bad decision or two, yeah