Come close young frosh and listen well,
To the ancient tale of GHeav and GHell,
For though the sign hath been transformed
The same dark fate must be forewarned.
GHeav is where we go to snack,
To chomp and chew and swallow and smack.
We get a Hungryman to eat,
A hot and tasty midnight treat.
GHeav is good and full of light
For when you need that midnight bite,
But yea, for doth a dark twin dwell
In that same spot—the cursed GHell.
GHell’s the dark and blighted seat
Of food you’ll crave but must not eat.
In metal troughs you’ll see it lie
And think “Looks good enough to try.
The line is long yet here’s no wait.
I’ll go ahead and fill a plate.”
But listen up you little fucker,
There’s nothing that’s more gross or yuck-er,
For though it’s in our blessed heaven
You stay the fuck away from there, Kevin.
No Yalie ever born or bred
Has eaten from that trough of dread.
Yet every night the food’s still there,
Fermenting in the midnight air,
Confirming all our greatest fears
That it’s been there near thirty years.
So go to GHeav, young first-year
And eat your sandwich well.
But you’d do well to steer far clear
Of that foredoomed GHell.

— A. Chase