There's vomit on his Oil sweater already, pregame spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks ressigned and ready.
To get bombed, but he keeps on forgettin
How to make saves, the whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his glove, but can't bat the puck out
He's chokin, how everybody's jokin now
The clocks run out, times up over, bloah!
Snap back to reality, oh there goes his save percentage
Oh, there goes Skinner, he choked
Hes so sad, but he wont give up that
Is he? no
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My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
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