Twas the night before Frozen Fury, and all through the house,
Not a King fan was stirring, not even Scribe’s mouse.
For they were all in Vegas, they’d left their loved ones behind,
Hockey time it was, their families in the back of their mind.
The Grand Garden Arena blanketed with ice,
In a calendar year it does not happen twice.
They all swarmed in at once, a black and purple and golden mob,
Players, fans and alumni, if you’re not here choke down your hot sob.
Everyone was merry not sober, the fans were singing and the players skating,
Luc Robitaille hosted some poker, Jim Fox put dollar bills in a girl’s g-string.
Drew Doughty showed up, but he wore just a suit,
He’ll have more fun that way, the chicks think he’s cute.
Terry Murray played roulette, I thought to earn some extra dough,
But upon a closer look, he was making a line combo.
Jamie Kompon was with a babe, I saw him ask her if he may,
Pass on his herpes to her, like he did with the powerplay.
But those two, no they could not spoil my smile, not even those clowns,
10,000 Brethren are in Sin City, here to burn it down.
We’ll drink and we’ll yell, we’ll laugh and we’ll boast,
The only thing better is a nice warm Duck roast.
And though I know that once Sunday comes,
I’ll bitch and I’ll moan, need lots of tums.
It doesn’t matter at all, even the weird tattoo on my calves,
That wasn’t there last night but fuck it, bring on the ugly ass Avs!
A Colorado fan walks by with a beer, and though he is a brother in puck,
I slap it from his hand so that he can hear, loudly, ‘Hey Avalanche fans, You Suck!’
Before I stop rhyming let me say something more,
Something to keep in your minds, you fans I adore.
This is Las Vegas, there are few rules with which to abide,
So have fun goddamn-it, see you on the other side.