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Lyrics:
Dear Ron MacLean, dear Coach's Corner I'm writing in order For someone to explain to my niece the distinction Between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission
And the rallies at Nuremburg, specifically the function The ritual serves in conjunction With what everybody knows is, in the end, a kid's game I'm just appealing to your sense of fair play
When I say she's puzzled by This incessant pressure for her to not defy Collective will and yellow-ribboned lapels As the soldiers inexplicably repel
Down from the arena rafters Which, if not so insane, would be grounds for screaming laughter
Dear Ron MacLean, I wouldn't bother with these questions If I didn't sense some spiritual connection We may not be the same but it's not like we're from different planets We both love this game so much we can hardly fucking stand it
Alberta-born, prairie-raised Ain't a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain't played From Penhold to the Gatineau Every fond memory of childhood that I know
Is somehow connected to the culture of This game, I just can't let it go
I guess it comes down to What kind of world you want to live in Diversity is disagreement, disagreement is treason Well, don't be surprised if we find ourselves reaping
A strange and bitter fruit that that sad old man beside you Keeps feeding to young minds as virtue It takes a village to raise a child, just a flag to raze the children Until they're nothing more than ballast for fulfilling
A madman's dream Of a paradise Complexity Reduced to black and white
How do I Protect her from This cult of death?
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