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P.K. is the Thriller

A parody song by Mike Obrand.

You may have heard by now that PK Subban won Halloween forever by pulling off a perfect Michael Jackson's Thriller. His domination at the Habs Halloween party last night inspired me to write a parody song, sung to the tune of Thriller, about our new hockey overlord.


[1st verse]

It’s close to gametime, something awesome’s lurking in the rink

Under the goal light, goalies see something that makes their heart sink

They try to save but his shot is too much for them to handle

They try to move but his deke freezes them right between the pipes,

They’re paralyzed!


PK’s the Thriller, Thriller night

And no one’s going to stop him when he’s skating up the ice

PK’s the Thriller, Thriller night

You’re helpless as he burns you he’s the Thriller, Thriller, tonight

[2nd verse]

You hear the door slam, realize that he’s out of the box

You feel the cold sweat as he dekes you right out of your socks

You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination, oh

But all the while, your corsi’s regressin’ below the line

Now you’re ridin’ pine!


PK’s the Thriller, Thriller night

There ain’t no second chance seventy six is your demise, oh

Thriller, Thriller night

Blazin’ a trail from Rexdale PK’s the Thriller, Thriller, tonight


There’s no escapin’ the dekes’ that he’s makin’ you’re on your knees

Your ankle’s broken you are just a token in his night (you’re on the losing side)

Your career’s end is nigh!

[3rd verse]

He’s out to get you, closing’ in as you cross the blue line

He will compress you, right up against that advertisement sign

Now is the time for you to limp back to your bench, yeah

All through the night, he’ll make you wish you played for his team

You’re getting’ creamed!


PK’s the Thriller, Thriller night

PK can thrill you more than any player would dare try

Thriller, Thriller night

Giving nightmares to bad guys he’s the Thriller, Thriller

…he’s gonna thrill you tonight

Darkness falls across the land

The 19th hour is close at hand

PK crawls in search of goals

He scores them and shuts up all the trolls

And whosoever is so bold

To try and break his mighty soul

Must stand and face the booming shot

But soon you wish that you had not

The foulest stench is in the air!

The funk of 25 odd years!

It rots inside your feeble mind

That smell erupts from his behind

And though you fight to stay alive

Your body starts to shiver

For no mere mortal can resist

The power of the Thriller