You’ve had a twitch since you were three,
It goes to spazzin’ when the school bell rings,
A bully steals your sneakers,
Girls shoot spitballs in your face,
Sister Irma whacks your knuckles,
‘Cause you’re lined up out of place,
And you ask yourself –
Well is there life beyond TV?
The days are getting longer—grass is greening,
Spring is in the air and you need cleaning,
The playground’s rockin’ out it starts you dreaming:
Become your life-sized poster of Tom Seaver.

You’ve built a shrine to the New York Mets,
Troubling your mind are the fortunes of the New York Mets,
All your energy is flowing through his mighty, mighty arm,
They can cancel spring and summer if it somehow comes to harm,
And you ask yourself, well is there life
Beyond the fortunes of the New York Mets?
Become your life-sized poster of Tom Seaver.

Wiggy, Wiggy, Wiggy you must someday learn a lesson,
(Yes you must)
That the hopes one takes for granted can be easily supplanted,
(Best for us – in the long run it is best for us)
Slippery as a spitter and elusive as a curve,
Though they stick with you like resin,
Only childhood will they serve.
(One, two, three, no more batters driven batty
One, two, three, hope is off to Cincinnati)
Be still your heart now settle in,
No competition here you’re going to win, win, win,
A bee outside your window tries to muscle through the screen,
All he wants to do is sting you – all you want is to be clean,
And you ask yourself – well is there life beyond that screen?