An update of a classic dirge
(The Street of Laredo, or A Cowboy’s Lament, is an Americanized adaptation of an old English folk song, recorded by dozens of male country stars of the late 1900s as well as several women and artists of other genres, the most notable rendition Marty Robbins’ classic in 1960. This version begs forgiveness of all those artists.)
As I walked out in the streets of Chicago,
As I walked out in Chicago one day.
I spied a poor Sox fan, wrapped in a team jersey,
Wrapped in a team jersey and cold as the clay.
“I can see by your outfit that you’re a White Sox fan,”
These words he did say as I slowly passed by,
“Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
For my fandom is shot and my spirit must die.”
“It was once in the ballpark I used to go cheering,
Once in the ballpark I used to have hope,
But Reinsdorf has killed all the life once inside me,
My fandom he’s murdered and I cannot cope.”
“Oh, beat grounders slowly and score runs most lowly,
And play the death march as you carry me along;
Take me to the ballpark and lay Rate sod o’er me,
For I’m a poor Sox fan and I know I’ve been wronged.”
“Get eight stone-hand fielders to juggle my coffin,
Get a useless front office to bear up my pall,
Put bunches of scorecards all over my coffin,
Scorecards all recording such terrible ball.”
“Once was the time I had a great dream,
That Jerry Reinsdorf would sell the Sox team,
The dream did provide me a brief prophylaxis,
But the direst of all White Sox fan facts is
Reinsdorf will never sell ‘cause he’d have to pay taxes,
So with his long life all we Sox fans are cursed.
For our spirits must be what has to die first.”
“So swing your bats slowly and stomp your cleats lowly,
And sing ‘na, na, na’ as you carry me along,
‘Neath the warning track throw me and roll Rate sod o’er me.
For I’m a poor Sox fan and I know I’ve been wronged.”
“Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold lager,
To dull my sad brain,” the Sox fan then said,
Before I returned, all his hopes had departed,
He’d self-DFA’ed, and his spirit was dead.
We beat grounders slowly and stomped our cleats lowly,
And bitterly wept as we bore him along,
For we, like our comrade, have had love for our White Sox,
For we are all Sox fans, but we all have been wronged.