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)
