Forty-one to twenty-two, the Garden held its breath and prayed.

Seventh Avenue went quiet, coats pulled tight against the doubt,

Half the city checked the exits, said this fairy tale's run out.

But I've seen this story end before in heartbreak, sure,

Fifty years of almost, of wait until next year —

Not tonight, not here.

'Cause we were down twenty-nine and the lights stayed on,

You thought the magic left, but the magic was never gone.

Brunson with the dagger eyes, OG raining seven from the sky,

Oh, you can build a giant seven-five —

But you can't kill what refuses to die.

We were down twenty-nine, now it's three to one,

Baby, this comeback's only just begun.

Halftime in the tunnel, twenty-seven in the hole,

Captain said we've come too far to let them take our soul.

Third quarter turned to thunder, fourth turned into flame,

A hundred seven to a hundred six — one point, whole new game.

And Victor, you were brilliant, blocking out the moon,

Twenty-four and thirteen boards, you'll have your kingdom soon —

But not in June, no, not in June.

'Cause the Garden's got a heartbeat older than us all,

And every ghost from '73 was dancing in that hall,

Screaming one more win, one more win, one more win...

We were down twenty-nine and we never blinked,

You had us dead and buried faster than you could think.

But orange and blue runs cold and deep,

And New York never learned to sleep.

We were down twenty-nine, now it's three to one —

Long story short: we're almost done.

Long story short: we've almost won.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5873022&forum_id=2Vannesa#49929719)