Victory Chant of the Holy Flannel

Tonight the ice spoke history, Of colors past, of ancient cries. Beneath the old flag from the North, The foe bore a name that still bites hard. But under the blaze of the Centre’s light, Our Habs made even the gods take fright. The blue ghosts rose from memory, Only to fall before the chosen, free. Go Habs Go! The Sainte Flanelle stands tall! Go Habs Go! The past does not win it all! Go Habs Go! Through smoke and cold and frozen law, The Canadiens write what is the law! They stole the uniform of a people, Carried it far from its sacred steeples. Nordiques gone, wounded memories, Renamed perhaps, but never erased, never freed. Yet tonight, without hatred or cry, It is Montréal that once more took high Québec’s flame — the heart, the pride, And victory carried on the roaring tide. Go Habs Go! Beneath the sparks of battle bright! Go Habs Go! This is our ice, this is our night! Go Habs Go! Let the past remember at last: The present belongs to the Habs! This was never a simple game, It was a thread through time and name. A memory healed, a reckoning done, A goal scored in the name of a nation. In the elders’ eyes, a quiet peace, In youthful hands, the future released. Go Habs Go! An ancestral victory in the night! Go Habs Go! The Sainte Flanelle answered: yes, all right! Go Habs Go! From the Forum to the Centre Bell, Montréal triumphs… and never loses its way.