I'm coming home, it's baseball time.
So I turn on TV to see team that's mine.
The seventh inning, Red Sox 7
Yankees only 3.
But bases now are loaded
so let's set those runners free!
Who's up?
A-Rod?
Not he!

Oh, why this fellow ribbin'?
For his fold-choke spree!
It's been five long years.
Pennants, none I see.
(None, I see.)
This fellow gets some ribbin'
for his fold-choke spree!
His gold-plated bust.
Forget about trust.
We put the blame on thee!
That's why we give this fellow ribbin':
For
(for)
his fold-choke spree!

Runs-driver, please hit for me.
No Playoffs missed since 1993.
Your bat is really sizzlin'
when the game's not close, you see.
But in clutch situations
you have disappointed me.
Upset in N.Y.C.!

Oh, why this fellow ribbin'?
For his fold-choke spree!
It's been five long years.
Pennants, none I see.
(None I see.)
This fellow gets some ribbin'
for his fold-choke spree!
His gold-plated bust.
Forget about trust.
We put the blame on thee!
That's why we give this fellow ribbin':
For
(for)
his fold-choke spree!

(instrumental break)

Now the whole damn park ain't cheering.
And I can't believe I see...
three hundred million dollars wasted on
(on)
his fold-choke spree!
A-Rod, go home!

(Fellow, ribbin' for his fold-choke spree!)
(Fellow, ribbin' for his fold-choke spree!)
(Fellow, ribbin' for his fold-choke spree!)
(Fellow, ribbin' for his fold-choke spree!)
(repeat until fade -- A-Rod will certainly provide one)