The Jet’s offence is dank,
Helly’s saves are from heaven;
Our skates hath the primal eldest blessings upon’t,
Wreaking incoming Hab’s murder.
Pray for a heavy shot,
Stan’s inclination be as sharp as will:
Kap’s resilient stones* usurps the Habs defence;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I beseech my LCD screen where I shall first begin,
And do not neglect.
What if Price’s cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with Leaflet’s blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet prairies
To wash, and render it null?
Behold the spoiler: Aye, there is.
Whereto serves Jet’s fourth line
But to be feeling it, and thus confront the visage of offence?
And what’s in prayer but this two-fold Plain Jane force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon’d being down?
Aye I’ll look up to see our maligned D
Who is at no fault these 4 games past.
But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve Mo’s fancy speeches?
‘Forgive us this incoming murder’ of thy gassed Habs?
That may well be; since Shuffles is still possess’d
And KFC scorsi effects are a real thing,
Thy dispensed foe of Oil can attest.
May Pionk, Tree, DeMelo be pardon’d for their awesomeness?
Nay.
In the corrupted currents of thy Sportsnetted world
Thy spin doctor’s gilded hand may be shoved aside by justice,
And oft ’tis seen the wicked hoped-for prize itself
Buys out the law: but ’tis not so above;
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
We ourselves shall see a clean series of underdogs compell’d,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence.
To business now.
Straighten, stubborn knees; and, Jet’s hearts
Beat with valves tethered with strings of steel,
Let les Habs be soft as sprigs of new-sprung prairie flora,
And Jets, feed them a breakfast of tender anthracite
And all may be well.
*”1. balls of steel” event