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Taylor  Jan 2019
puck / slut
Taylor Jan 2019
I came out the womb with skates on, cut the ice before my teeth
My religion worships Gretzky, I was baptized in the crease
I got sharp eyes for action, grew up three rows from the glass
So why can’t I want to kick some—and also get some ***?

These bros, since I was little, thought because I was a girl
That the ***** standing next to me knew more about this world
They’d even ask my boyfriend all the questions ‘bout the team
Though he didn’t know a thing and kept directing them to me

They always thought that I had just got dragged there by my man
When it was just the opposite; they didn’t understand
That I kept stats for fun before I ever got a date
That I helped recruit a forward to the team back in ‘08

That the coordinates to both my rinks are tattooed on my neck
That a 1-3-1’s the power play that’s worst to play against
That I haven’t missed a game in Cloud for 27 years
That I rattle off statistics like I’m in Sam Rosen’s ear

And this is what I said to prove I was a “real” fan;
‘Cause I guess the logic is if I’m attracted to a man
And he plays the sport, I only come in hopes of getting laid
Apparently it can’t be both; a body and a brain.

So bros call me a puckbunny: the hockey word for ****.
And they spit it like an insult, but lately, I say “so what?”
“Big D” can stand for “****” and “defense;” I don’t want just one.
You close the five-hole in the game; you spread it when it’s done.

So my libido is on fire for a goalie I admire
And that save percentage higher than the tent inside his sheets
And if we finally win a title, I could be his motorcycle
Hold me like the Cup and ride me hard until I overheat

And the banners were the reason in the 2013 season
That I spent the winter frequently rewarding goals scored
I committed to the mission; might’ve just been superstition,
But I got what I was wishing for so fine, call me a *****

And I maybe want to **** him but I hate it’s your assumption
That I’m all about the lovin’ when I’m all about the game
And I’m dropping all this knowledge ‘bout the prospects still in college
And for all your **** I promise you don’t even know their names

And ******* right I know more than the bro around the block
And ******* right you’d catch me ******* Tyler Seguin’s ****
And ******* right when Kreider drives the net it turns me on
And ******* right that goal red light district can’t be wrong

And ******* right I’ve got a third line notch up in my belt
And ******* right I’ve finally just embraced this sense of self
And ******* right I live and breathe and bleed the game of puck
And ******* right sometimes I guess I’m just a big old ****.
uhhh because ******* that's why?

— The End —