Well, we busted up the Sox.
Had to put away all them fools.
We learned more from a three-hour ballgame, baby
than we ever learned in school.
Tonight I hear the Bleacher fans' profane sound.
I can see the Louisville Sluggers pound.
You say you're tired of Sox fans talking smack
and you'll beat all their dreams down.

Well, we made a promise:
"It ain't over 'til it's over!"
No defeat, baby, this October!
Ballplayers on a summer's night
bringing reality from hope!
No defeat, baby, this October!

Well, Red Sox players' hair grows long
and they play the same old tired song.
We swore, Pinstripers always win.
Now I'm ready to parade again.
And I hear the Bambino's voice calling us home
here in this old ballyard.
And we will defend this place of our own
with these well-paid tough All-Stars.

'Cause we made a promise:
"It ain't over 'til it's over!"
No defeat, baby, this October!
Ballplayers on an autumn night
bringing reality from hope!
No defeat, baby, this October!

(instrumental break)

Now, in Boston, tonight, the fans grow dim.
The Wall in their left field's closing in.
There's a war inside still raging.
They say it ain't ours anymore to win.
But they will sleep with all the fish again
like we've always said
with their wide-open mouths getting slammed shut
'til they get it through their heads:

Well, we made a promise:
"It ain't over 'til it's over!"
No defeat, baby, this October!
Call "Mad Dog" on a winter's night
tell that Yankee-hating dope:
No defeat, baby, this October!
No defeat, baby, this October!