The Night They Drove Old Geno Down

Ryan Fitz is my name, and I drove on the Houston train.

‘Til Mallett’s cavalry came and tore up the depth chart again.

In the summer of ’15, we were Gang Green, just barely alive.

By June 10th, Brady had fell. It’s a time I remember oh so well.

The night they drove old Geno down,

And his bell was ringing.

The night they drove old Geno down,

And all the Pats fans were singing, they went

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,

ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

Back with Gailey at training camp, when one day he called on me,

“Ryan, quick, come see, there goes Enemkpali!”

Now I don’t mind throwin’ picks, and I don’t care if I take a few licks.

Just punch who you need and cut the rest, but they should never have punched out the very best.

The night they drove old Geno down,

His jaw was stinging.

The night they drove old Geno down,

And all the Giants fans were singing, they went,

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,

ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

Like Sanchez before me, I will try my best.

And like Geno above me, who couldn’t pass the test.

He was twenty-four, proud and brave,

But an IK made his jawline cave.

I swear by the mud below my cleat,

You can’t raise a Jet back up when he’s in defeat.

The night they drove old Geno down,

And his bell was ringing.

The night they drove old Geno down,

And all the other fans were singing, they went,

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,

ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”