There's an old man called Vin Testaverde.
That's an old man I don't like to be.
Jets think that he'll get them out of trouble.
He was born back in sixty-three.

Old man quivers.
The old man quivers.
He must know something
but has left nothing.
He just keeps creaking
he keeps on creaking along.

His legs are crumbling.
His mouth has cotton.
And how to play ball
he's long forgotten.
That old man quivers.
He keeps on creaking along.

You and me, we see him strain.
Body all aching and wracked with pain.
Tote that ball, throw that pass.
You meet defenders and you'll hit the grass.

He looks weary, so why's he trying?
The Jets are thinking he won't be dying!
The old man quivers!
He just keeps creaking... along!