I am obsessed with goals--
What's wrong with me?
I'm itching to go and watch ice hockey.
Can't think of nothin' but the Stanley Cup
I watch thugs
Who all shoot pucks.
Goons, goons, goons, goons, oh yeah!

These guys are brazen, and they're far from weak
And they are really agile on their feet
Adorned with blades that slice and dice and cut
I watch thugs
Who all shoot pucks.
Goons, goons, goons, goons, oh yeah!

I don't understand the blue line
But when they mix it up on ice, it's sublime
One guy's gettin' pounded in the chest
His rival beats till he's out of breath.

Those hard body slams must chill their butts
The ice is cold, but their tempers are hot
I sure do hope that they're wearing strong cups
Toward the nuts
They all shoot pucks
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!

Their tongues get tied when they try to speak--
One too many stick hits cranially.
The battered body of the goalie's lyin'
On ice, and toward me a biscuit's flyin'

It does a belly roll
As it heads toward me
Beyond the ice are dangers of hockey.
Hate to do it, but drop my beer cup
Otherwise. . .push daisies up.

Moved, moved, moved, moved--I'm OK.

I ducked that puck!