Hello, madness, my old friend.
Your time of year has come again.
Because the tournament is arriving.
Sixty-five teams, just one surviving.
And the visions that it's planted in my brain
bring such pain.

I'm on the march
to madness.

In restless dreams I'm watching Duke.
"Shuh-shef-ski," coach, he makes me puke.
He is biggest A.C.C. villain.
I root for Carolina, Roy Williams.
And my eyes were pleased by the flash of the Hansbrough dunks
that split Duke's punks.

I'm on the march
to madness.

And in the naked light I saw
twenty thousands folks and more.
People rooting hard for Kentucky.
Others think the 'Cats are quite sucky.
And Miss Ashley Judd
roots for them, her I'd share
but she won't dare.

I'm on the march
to madness.

"Fools!" said I, "your upset pick!
No Valparaiso's gonna stick."
Every year there may be one or two
who will beat a high seed and come through
but they've soon
like all the others, fell...

and echoed...
in the halls...
of madness.

And the hoopsters come and play.
Can they beat UCLA?
Will it be Memphis or the Georgetown team
who will have the "We're Number 1" dream?
And the sign said
"The words of Dick Vitale
are 'Awesome, baby!' in these halls!"
We hear his calls.

Not whispered!
On the march...

to madness.