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Winter time and the frozen river |
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Sunday afternoon |
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They're playing hockey on the frozen river |
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Rosie...! |
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You skate as fast as you can 'til you hit the snowbank |
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(that's how you stop) |
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And you buy your sweater through the catalogue |
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Sailing on |
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Rosie...! |
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You'll have that scar on your chin forever you know |
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Looks bad now, but someday your girlfriend will say "Hey, what...?" |
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You might look out the window... Or not |
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Don't let those Sunday afternoons |
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Get away get away get away get away |
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Break away break away break away break away |
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This stick was signed by Jean Belliveau |
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so don't f**kin' tell me where to f**kin' go... |
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f**k f**k f**k f**k! |
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Sunday afternoon |
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Hey, your dog just stole the puck- ahh... not my dog |
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You get it - your turn |
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They rioted in the streets of Montreal when they benched Rocket Richard, |
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and that is true bona fide Canadian history, that's what really counts |
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That's what we're all about |
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Don't let those Sunday afternoons |
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Get away get away get away get away |
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Break away break away break away break away |
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You use your rubber boots for goal-posts |
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and you're so proud of that, cause they're your boots that they're usin' |
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that... |
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Oh... walkin' home |
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There's some people fishin' in those fishin' huts down the river |
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Smoking big cigars and telling stories of long ago |
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Rosie...! |
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The sun is setting on the frozen river |
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And the willow trees with their long fingers |
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hanging over the banks |
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and somewhere far away in a distant memory is a little boy sittin' on a log |
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with bare feet, bruised knees |
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fishin' fishin' |
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dreamin' of one day... one day |
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They're playin' hockey on the frozen river |
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The wind is dying down |
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Don't let those Sunday afternoons |
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Don't let those Sunday afternoons |
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Get away |
