A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How spring training used to make me smile.
And I knew the boys had a chance
To make it to the Autumn Dance
And, maybe, stick around for a while.

But late August made me shiver
With every loss they delivered.
Bad news on the front page;
No more hope at this stage.

I laughed so hard I almost cried
When I read the dumb shit about pride,
Turned off the games and went outside
The day the season died.

So bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye.
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Did you think we'd rise above,
And did you have faith in Fields' glove,
Because Cora tells you so?
Do you believe who they put out,
Goggles, The Bridge, all those shut outs,
And poor Q! limping off the field real slow?

Well, there was the Colon experiment,
We all know how awesome that went.
Him and the Count just shat the bed,
How many innings will DJ get?

We called up a Georgia broncin buck
Tore the stitches off after initial suck,
But even He couldn't save this clusterfuck
The day the season died.

I started singin
"Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Now last year we got the Central crown
Stood to repeat since the rest are down,
But it just wasn't meant to be.
When you trot out Gobble, Broadway, and Nessie,
Plus Linebrink shits bricks for all to see,
At least there was perfection from Buehrle...

Oh, and then The Ace got knocked around,
After another seventeen sat down.
Danks' shakiness returned,
Was shutdown or got burned.
And while Floyd's been solid down the stretch,
There were points where he'd make you wretch,
Wise ensured legacy with The Catch.
But still, the season died.

We were singing,
"Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Defense melted in a summer swelter,
Bullpen giving up bombs; better seek shelter,
Just two back then falling fast.
Last games on dome's fake-ass grass
The old guys tried for one last gasp,
People shout to stop living in the past.

Now the trade deadline was taken shrewd,
We locked up Peavy and that Rios dude.
We want to go to The Dance,
Oh, but we screw up every chance!
'cause the facepalm lineups take the field;
Runners the pitching would always yield.
Errors galore, their fate was sealed.
The day the season died.

We were singing,
"Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Oh, for the day they were in first place,
Instead of Pods out there with bad breaks
With no time left to start again.
So come on: Pods be nimble, Pods be quick!
Pods picked off like a dumb prick
Cause the devil's gonna collect, my friend.

Oh, and Ozzie kept Alex in a cage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No snowball's chance in hell
Could break the doghouse spell.
And as Sox fans argue into the night
About when Peavy's start is right,
The offense loses all its fight
The day the season died.

They were singing,
"Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Next year we'll get a healthy Q!,
A Savior with less defense miscues,
Some contracts will be turned away.
A shakeup in the lineup core
Can't play the same guys as years before,
No sense paying them for declining play.

And on the nets: commenters screamed,
The kittehs cried, dumb statements reamed.
The right rail was a joke and
"No subject lines" verboten.
And the one guy that I like most:
Sat at home, bored, career is toast.
Sign Frank so he ends as a Pale Hose
Now that the season's died.

And we'll be singing,
"Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

We'll be singing,
"Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."