By the shores of old Lake Michigan
Where the hawk wind blows so cold
An old Cub fan lay dying
In his midnight hour that tolled
{as above}
Do they still play the blues in Chicago
When baseball season rolls around
When the snow melts away,
Do the Cubbies still play
In their ivy covered burial ground?
When I was a boy they were my pride and joy
But now they only bring fatigue
To the home of the brave
The land of the free
And the doormat of the National League