In days of yore,
Despite the score,
We loved our dear old Yankees.
They'd sign their name
Before the game
On things like balls and hankies.
In their new digs
They are bigwigs;
We're fenced out from their presence.
To put it short
These kings of sport
Now treat us all like peasants.
Free autograph?
Don't make me laugh!
They're sold to highest bidder.
The team forgets
It has some debts
To orphan child and widder.
So fare-thee-well
(or go to hell)
Most noble Yankee sluggers.
A soccer game
May be quite lame –
But they are humble buggers.
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