A long, long time ago
my great-grandpa told me
that the Red Sox used to make me smile.

And when old Fenway Park was new
the Boston team always came through
and made New England happy for a while.

But it was in the bleak December
cold and gray, as he'd remember.
Bad news in the paper:
A Babe-to-Yankees caper.

I can't remember if he cried
but he was quite fit to be tied
and something touched him deep inside
when Babe's... Curse was... applied.

So why, why, this here Boston Creamed Pie?
Harry Hooper hit a blooper, party-pooper defy.
But he's long-gone, so kiss the winning goodbye.
Sing, The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?
The Curse is gonna fall on which... guy?

Did you write the column in
which you said the Sox were drenched in sin?
In the Globe, it must be so.

And did you believe in Jimmie Foxx?
Could he bring a Pennant to the Sox?
Or Lefty Grove, or the shortstop, Cronin, Joe?

Well, I know that, Ted, I believe in him
'cause he took extra swings inside the gym.
Hit four-hundred, that's news.
But the Yanks gave Grandpa blues!

He was a lonely teenage Chowder-head
with a pink carnation and the Sox of Red
but he knew they would be so dead
when Babe's... Curse was... applied.

He started singing,
Why, why, this here Boston Creamed Pie?
Bobby Doerr, he's a goer, but this thrower threw high.
And he's long-gone, so kiss the winning goodbye.
Sing, The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?
The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?

Now, for 50 years, we were on our own
and poor Johnny Pesky, he got stoned
'cause hold the ball's not how to be.

When the Splinter showed he's the hitting king
coming back from his wartime piloting
but would not tip his cap to you and me.

Oh, and while the king was looking down
the Mick hit balls right out of town.
Another year's adjourn.
To the Series, no return.

But while Lennon sang of mind-blown car
at last the Red Sox came real far
but Tony C, he felt a jar
when Babe's... Curse was... applied.

We were singing,
Why, why, this here Boston Creamed Pie?
Sixty-seven, it was heaven, Yaz is revvin' on high.
But he's long-gone, so kiss the winning goodbye.
Sing, The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?
The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?

Steamin', screamin', impossible dreamin'.
Bob Gibson pitches laser-beamin'.
Dad woke up from the dream real fast.

But Carlton Fisk, he waved his hands.
That ball obeyed his hard commands
but Game 7 left my father so aghast.

Now, the Yankee dugout made him swoon
with the Reggie-Billy martial tune.
We all got up to dance.
Oh! But a quick end to our chance!

And we led the Yanks by 14 games
got massacred with great big shames.
Do you recall that profane name
when Babe's... Curse was... applied?.

We were singing,
Why, why, this here Boston Creamed Pie?
Torrez slider, Bucky's rider, it's a glider with fly.
The ball's long-gone, so kiss the winning goodbye.
Sing, The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?
The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?

Oh, and there we were, all snug at Shea.
Just one more out, one strike away.
At last we'd celebrate again.

But, come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack McNamara played a trick
'cause heartbreak is a Sox fan's only friend.

Oh, and as the ball went through the legs
my hand reached for all that bar's kegs.
New York, again was hell.
The Sox can't break the spell!

And as the umps could not get no calls fine
thus helped the Yanks in ninety-nine
I swore one day we would have our time
when Babe's... Curse will... have died.

Still, I'm singing,
Why, why, this here Boston Creamed Pie?
It's a Pennant we were winnin', Aaron Boone made it fly.
That ball's long-gone, so kiss the winning goodbye.
Sing, The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?
The Curse is gonna fall on which guy?

My son now feels the baseball itch.
It brings him to a fever pitch.
Will this Curse never go away?

I took him down to Fenway Park.
The Yanks made things look very dark.
But the Red Sox... at long last learned... how to play.

And in The Bronx, at last we screamed
for getting all of which we dreamed.
With comeback, here's what's spoken:
At last, The Curse is broken!

And the three men I wished, this, they saw:
My Dad, his Dad, and Great-Grandpa?
From heaven, smiled, shock and awe.
That day... The Curse, it... died.

And they were singing...
Bye, bye to the Boston Creamed Pie.
No more Bucky, now we're lucky, Buckner, Boone, we defy.
For once, it was the New York Yankees who'd cry.
But they'll be back once again, that's no lie!