The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day.
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
a sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
to be stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again?

Tom Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake
and the former was a loser and the latter was a flake.
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat.
There seemed to be no chance of Casey getting to the bat.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
to be stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again?

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all.
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball.
And when the dust had lifted, and we saw what had occurred,
second base had Jimmy safe, and Flynn is hugging third.
Oh, Mama, can we write a different end
or are we stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again?

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell.
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell.
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat
for Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat!
Oh, Mama, can we write a different end
or are we stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again?

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped.
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand,
and it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
to be stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again?

Back into the box stepped Casey, and once more the pellet flew,
but Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, but we saw those muscles strain.
We knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
Oh, Mama, can we write a different end
or are we stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again?

The sneer has gone from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, Mama, did he write a different end
or are we stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again?

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
but there is no joy in Mudville! Mighty Casey has struck out!
Oh, Mama, this is once again the end
and we're stuck inside of Mudville with the Boston blues again!

Now the drunks lay on Beacon Street
and the neon madmen climb.
They all fall there so perfectly.
To prepare, they had so much time.
And here I sit so patiently
waiting to find out what price
I'll have to pay to keep the Yankees from
going through all these things twice.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
to be stuck inside of Boston
with the Mudville blues again?