It was a cool winter night as we stood in the bar,

People packed in from near and afar.

The crowd was awash in joy and good cheer,

The conversation flowed as well as the beer.

There stood Bauzen, leaning on the wall,

His shouts of “Kill Bisping!” could be heard above all.

All of a sudden the crowd drew apart,

Along came Matt Serra with vengeance in his heart.

He approached our dear Bauzen, hand curled in a fist,

He had something to say, and man was he pissed.

“You made me look like a drunk!” he said to our hero,

But Bauzen stayed cool like Robert De Niro.

“I did my job,” he said, chest puffed with pride,

The interview was good, that can’t be denied.

Serra backed up, a look of doubt in his eye,

Bauzen’s brazen defense had stifled his reply.

He left the confrontation, his tail between his legs,

“I’m so very sorry” for Bauzen's pardon he begs.

My heart started beating, for awhile it had stopped,

And when I looked down, my panties had dropped.