Yankees

Let me confess,
Born and raised in Brooklyn
The Bronx was a place of mystery.
Overcrowded with wall to wall 3 story walkups.

I think Columbus would not have visited.
Nope, the borough was creepy.
The stadium was in a lousy location
Even the subway stop, not close to being underground, was nuttin.

But that is far from the worst the Bronx had to offer,
Including the strange way the natives spoke.
That honor belonged to the Yankees,
Those bullshit, white-bread, pinstriped Yankees and Mel Allen.

Mel was their lead play by play guy.
Always the Yankees were in deep do-do.
Poor bubbies, “don’t stand a chance”, he would lament,
Right after Yogi hit a “White Owl Wallop”. Gimme a break!

Brooklyn had Red Barber, a southern gentlemen,
Who called a game right. Taught Vin Scully.
But the “Bronx Bomber’s” what kind of nickname is that?
Sounded like they wore leather flight jackets.

Anuddah thing. We had a band “The Dodger Filharmonic”,
6 piece dixieland.. They were great.
Yankees put gravestones in center field,
What the hell are ya celebrating wit gravestones?

Time and again my beloved Bums
Would lead the National League,
Winning the pennant to confront the Yankees
And proceed to break our hearts

Five times we met ‘em
Five times we tumbled.
It was humiliating.
They owned us, those too-grand-to-take-a crap creeps.

Until 55,
When I changed Dodger luck by betting against them!
Yeah, that’s right. Took me 10 years to figure it out.
Cost me 20 bucks, but we were a Winnah!!