Composed in the very earliest days of the game, I still think this is, as silly video game parody poems go, decent.

(with apologies to the original http://www.bayrobertsculture.com/smokeroomonthekyle.pdf)

Tall are the tales that the Alliance tell, when PvP is done,
Of toons they’ve ganked, chains they’ve yanked, and crazy zergs they’ve run.
But never did a Pally tell a tale, so tall by half a mile,
As the tale of the shaman on the forum one night,
about Windfury nukes gone wild

With flames about from twenty trolls, the board was near-unreadable.
There was many a “Nrf shmmees plz” and “Shaman – TOTALLY UNBEATABLE”
When somebody suggested that each in turn should tell
A tale of shaman gankage that made his life resemble hell

Tales were told of Ten Foot Taurens with stomps that lasted hours,
Of invisible shaman with super-nukes and all kinds of heavenly powers,
Of resurrections back to full, of wolves outrunning epics,
Of shaman Remorse who, naked, beat twenty men with just a stick

The cries of nerfage grew louder still when a 60 Night Elf Rogue said,
They can frost shock twice and you’d be slowed, then dead.
He said the shock could crit for 2k, and you could melee all the while,
And Windfury procced itself sometimes, he assured the crowd with a smile.

But the best was saved for last, of course, the most horrific tale,
Was told by a level 1 shaman alt, who knew the class was hale,
The alt posted one-worders, “Me too”s and pointless rants,
But he told the tale of how he got ganked when all he wanted to do was dance.

“Yes, folks, the truth is out,” said the alt. “That much we know for sure”
And I know it is, I’ll tell you true, the shaman require a cure
It’s overpoweredness I’m going to describe,
And it’s a miracle I’m here to tell it, I barely made it out alive.

I stood in Crossroads that day, zerging with my buds,
Couldn’t understand why the town wasn’t ground into tiny bits of dust.
We could gank people as they rezzed for a few HKs here and there,
but all that ended when a shaman appeared from nowhere.

We stood there fifty strong and more, with hunters, priests, and rogues,
Watching the shaman come towards us, laughing as he approached.
We started the hunters shooting fast, aimed shots from every side,
But he walked through the volleys and came running out the other side

He cast a spell that we all knew well, Windfury on his little twig,
And our mages couldn’t miss him, because he was a Cow and far too big.
He walked into the fray swinging the little stick to and fro,
so behind him all the rogues a-stunning started to go.

But stand up to it! You know he did, and never stopped but once
And that to /spit and chow down on a stack of 512 muttons.
We brought in our pallies, invulnerable now, with shields in full array,
But purged them he did and ate them up like they were straws of hay.

At last we took a final tack, and advanced behind us fast,
And only just in time, for he’d summoned another shaman to down us to the last.
They came like farmers unto wheat, with windfuries proccing constant,
And every shock had no cooldown, they were one-shotting us with instants.

We never went back to that little town, nor any other place,
It’s too hard to get honor, you see, flat down on your face.
I walk around in stealth mode now, and pray for a lowbie hunter to pass,
Cuz I know at least I can get my kicks inside his lowbie ass.

Yes, tall are the tales that the Alliance tell, when PvP is done,
Of toons they’ve ganked, chains they’ve yanked, and crazy zergs they’ve run.
But never did a Pally tell a tale, so tall by half a mile,
As the tale of the level 1 shaman alt one night,
about Windfury nukes gone wild