Golden Throat by Ben Brenner Old Golden Throat’s gone, he’s called his last game. He bet the farm and went on his way. And the refrigerators closed, the butter’s getting hard, The lights went out when he fell in the yard. I first heard his voice back in 88, the year Magic’s hook shot, put the Celtics away. Up in his nest, usin words to see, And every game he called, he called just for me. So hey Johnny Most high above the Garden floor, Won’t you please sing Danny Boy for me once more. There’s nothing much left, between me and you. There’s nothing anyone can say, and nothing left to do. No there’s nothing much left between you and me, Just a bunch of old songs, that I’ll never sing. So hey Johnny Most high above the Garden floor, Won’t you please sing Danny Boy for me once more. So Golden Throat’s gone, I’ll say it once more. And the airwaves are silent, but we all, we all know the score.