| Winter time and the frozen river
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| Sunday afternoon
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| They’re playing hockey on the frozen river
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| Rosie!!!
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| You skate as fast as you can 'til you hit the snowbank
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| (that's how you stop)
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| And you buy your sweater through the catalogue
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| Sailing on
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| Rosie!!!
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| You’ll have that scar on your chin forever you know
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| Looks bad now, but someday your girlfriend will say «Hey, what???»
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| You might look out the window… Or not
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| Don’t let those Sunday afternoons
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| Get away get away get away get away
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| Break away break away break away break away
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| This stick was signed by Jean Belliveau
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| So don’t fuckin' tell me where to fuckin' go…
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| Fuck fuck fuck fuck!
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| Sunday afternoon
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| Hey, your dog just stole the puck- ahh… not my dog
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| You get it — your turn
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| They rioted in the streets of Montreal when they benched Rocket Richard
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| And that is true bona fide Canadian history, that’s what really counts
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| That’s what we’re all about
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| Don’t let those Sunday afternoons
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| Get away get away get away get away
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| Break away break away break away break away
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| You use your rubber boots for goal-posts
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| And you’re so proud of that, cause they’re your boots that they’re usin'
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| That…
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| Oh… walkin' home
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| There’s some people fishin' in those fishin' huts down the river
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| Smoking big cigars and telling stories of long ago
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| Rosie!!!
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| The sun is setting on the frozen river
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| And the willow trees with their long fingers
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| Hanging over the banks
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| And somewhere far away in a distant memory is a little boy sittin' on a log
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| With bare feet, bruised knees
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| Fishin' fishin'
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| Dreamin' of one day… one day
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| They’re playin' hockey on the frozen river
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| The wind is dying down
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| Don’t let those Sunday afternoons
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| Don’t let those Sunday afternoons
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| Get away |