Managers and fans alike
Share one glaring fear
It’s not the curve or rain delay
But it grins from ear to ear

A curse blows in from outta town
And settles if it chooses
And if it sticks around your ground
Your ballclub always loses

The bum has moved to Brooklyn
He traveled overnight
The people tried to drive him out
They didn’t dare put up a fight

If you lay a finger on ‘im
Or nudge his belly so fat
He sticks around 100 years
They say Chicago did just that

By that we leave him be
As he scrambles to set up shop
Outside ol Ebbets field he grins
Cigar in hand and hat atop

Each day we up and pass him by
‘Til fall you can assume
Hope is that he won’t enjoy his stay
Or defeat will always loom

Game after game each fly is dropped
Our pitchers ever throw a gem
No grounders ever find a glove
‘Til were on the road again

Oh the bum has moved to Brooklyn
He seems to like it here
Losses keep on mounting up
And wins are never near

Maybe someday he’ll pack his bags
And stumble on about
Up to where ol’ Mantle plays
But he’s a Yankees fan no doubt