Lyrics
He looked more like our fathers
Not a goalie, player, athlete period
Smoke, half-ash, stuck in that permanent smirk
Tugging jersey around the beer gut
"I'm strictly a whiskey man"
Was one of the sticks he taped up
And gave to a nation of pudgy boys in beverage rooms
Favorites from Plympton's list
Of objects thrown by Rangers fans
Soup cans, persimmon, eggs, a folding chair and a dead rabbit
The nervous breakdown of '68 and '69
After pant-crap flights from LA, the expansion
A shrink told me to change occupations, I had to forget it
He swore he was never afraid of the puck, we believe him
If anyone asks, the inscription should read
"My face was my mask"