To the tune of “Little Pink Houses” 

 

There’s a black man with a brown glove

Standin’ out in right field

 He’s got an interest rate

Running through his head

You know he thinks he’s got it so good…

And there’s a goggleman in the bullpen

Servin’ up all kinds of slop

And they look at each other and say

It’s payday, baby, who gives a f***

 

Oh, but ain’t the Chicago Cubs

 Playing pitifully

 Ain’t this year’s Cubs, you know statisticallllllllllllly

Ain’t they just unlucky,

Yessirree, BABIP, yeah,

Little Grey Boxes For you and me

Oooh, yeah,

 

Well, there’s a young man in a new shirt

 Wishes he could get in the game

He’s got a splinter in his ass

He says, Lord this must be my destination

Cause they told me when I younger

Said, boy, your earn it and you can play

But just like everything else

Those crazy dreams came and went cuz

They got other player’s contracts to pay…

 

Oh, but ain’t the Chicago Cubs

Playing pitifully

 Ain’t this year’s Cubs, you know statisticallllllllllllly

Ain’t they just unlucky,

Oh, Yessirree, BABIP, yeah,

Little Grey Boxes For you and me

Oooh, yeah,

 

(pause for instrumental interlude and/or a snack)

 

Well, there’s more and more people

What do they know?

This team cannot score

But to Wrigley they gooooo…

Ooh, yeah,

And there’s winners and there’s losers

 But they ain’t no big deal

Cause the simple man, baby,

He’s paying the bills,

While the athletes, yeah, they just take pills….

 

Oh, but ain’t the Chicago Cubs

Playing pitifully

Ain’t this year’s Cubs, you know statisticallllllllllllly

Ain’t they just unlucky,

Yessirree, BABIP, yeah,

Little Grey Boxes For you and me

Oooh, yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Little Grey Boxes for you and me…

you and me

you and me…

 

(Guitar solo)

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