LORD STANLEY

Back in eighteen ninety‑two, Lord Stanley had a plan,

He bought a little silver cup from over in England’s land.

It didn’t cost a fortune, just a trophy for the best,

But nobody knew that tiny cup would outshine all the rest.

At first it was the amateur teams skating for that prize,

Montreal was one of the first, pure fire in their eyes.

Then pro teams started chasing it, the pressure and the roar,

By the time the NHL took charge, it meant so much more.

It started as a seven‑inch bowl, a simple silver crown,

They kept adding rings with players’ names as years kept rolling down.

Now every dent and little scratch tells stories from the ice,

Of overtimes and crazy hits and paying every price.

You can’t just walk into a store and pay to lift this prize,

You earn it through the broken teeth and tears in players’ eyes.

It’s worth the bruises, sleepless nights, the nerves you can’t control,

You measure what the Cup is worth in heart, not in a roll.

(Elevated tone of excitement)

Now it’s that time of year again, the rinks are shaking loud,

Every city, every barn is packed with hopeful crowd.

You’re screaming for your colors, begging players, “Don’t give up,”

’Cause nothing cheap could ever be called the Stanley Cup.

(Anthem / Arena-Chant)

We want the Cup, we want the Cup,

Raise your voices, everybody, turn it up.

Every jersey, every city’s fired up,

All together, we’re chasing that Cup.

We want the Cup, we want the Cup,

Feel the building shaking as we stand up.

Every heartbeat, every breath says “never stop,”

’Til somebody here is lifting that Cup.