Friends, humans (?), Flyers fans, 
Put down your beers;
I come to bury Crosby, 
Not to praise him.
The weasel that was Sid is evident;
His value to his team, not so;
So let us leave that whiner. 
The noble brutes, ‘us’
Were goodly warriors, ambitious:
And that is not, a grievous fault,
Mischievously, we answered them,
The critics of the press, and Pitt, 
For Flyers are good honorable men,
As players all, are honorable men
But Claude Giroux, is best
Sid was no friend, unfaithful, 
And a sissy
The Flyers say he was ambitious
And Flyers are all honorable men.
He had brought home some 
Glories with his stick
Which glory did the Allegheny swell,
But this, in Crosby, 
Was a bit malicious
And when they pushed him hard, 
He cried, he fell:
Ambition should be made 
Of sterner stuff:
And Crosby was indeed, ambitious;
But he was not an honorable man.
You all did see that on the slippery ice
He was presented with 
Lord Stanley’s crown,
And made the evening news, 
Was this ambitious?
The brutes, ‘us’, say he was malicious;
But are we sure he even was a ‘man?’
I speak not to dig salt 
Into the deep wounds,
The fat birds did indeed go home to die
And Crosby is quite loved, 
Not without cause,
They all did love him once, 
Not without cause:
All those who live on PA’s ugly side,
O judgment! thou art fled 
To brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. 
Bear with me;
Their hearts are in the coffin 
There with Sidney,
While mine is filled 
With unsurpassing glee.