Well, you wake up in the morning, boy
you get the Sun-Times thing.
Read Mariotti's column, boy
it's the same damn thing.
But this time, they will be different, boy
the words you got there in your hand.
The White Sox won the World Series, boy
and Ozzie Guillen is the man.

Let the Midway Special
shine its light on me.
Let the Midway Special
shine its ever-lovin' light on me.

Now, if you're ever in Houston, boy
you know you better hit great.
You better be flashin' leather, boy
and get the ball over the plate.
'Cause you beat the Cleveland Indians
and you knocked the Red Sox down.
Clipped the wings of the Angels, boy
and now you're glory-bound!

Let the Midway Special
shine its light on me.
Let the Midway Special
shine its ever-lovin' light on me.

Here comes the Commissioner, boy.
Ask me, why is that, I say?
I can tell by his scowl, boy
and by his bad toupee.
Cheap suit on his shoulders, boy
expensive trophy in his hand.
He gives it to the Pale Hose, boy
to forever stand.

Let the Midway Special
shine its light on me.
Let the Midway Special
shine its ever-lovin' light on me!