Lyrics

To address the singularity of Wilbon's angst - his above all others, forever and ever, play ball...

With thanks to Mr. Lip, Paul to my John this go-round, and to Brad Weiss for helping make sure the lyrics capture the strife of Wrigley life.

Hey Bulldog

Wilbon, broadcasts his disdain
His Cubs, giving him chest pain

Wins don’t bring happiness
He can’t eek out a smile
Strolls to mom’s from home games
That walk’s about a mile

New York, you don’t understand
The strife of Chicago fans

No kind of championship in
One hundred plus years
You can’t know what it's like
To face these BartMan fears

You can’t feel like me
You can’t feel like me
You can’t feel like me (but)
If they win this, you’ll be sick of me

Hey Wilbon, Hey Wilbon [fade]