D

ucks, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow

Lose not, poor Ducks, nor yet canst thou defeat me.

From Teemu’s smile, which but thy memories be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men against thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

Thou’art slave to fate, chance, Kings, and Nashville’s best men,

And dost with poison, war, and Blackhawks dwell,

And vict’ry or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake in round two,

And Ducks shall be no more; Ducks, thou shalt lose.

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