(instrumental opening)

Standing in the ballpark looking down on the diamond.
The way I been feeling leads to darn sad rhymin'.
Teardrops falling on the dugout's side.
Every time he's pitching, it ends up that I've cried.
We used to be so happy, now we're gathering moss
high on a Montas of Loss.

Every five nights, standing on the mound alone
pitching his heart out, his control's gone.
Hoping that he's better and he might come through.
Hoping just by chance that he'll get good defense too.
Trying so hard to find the
plate he throws across.
High on a Montas of Loss.

The Montas of Loss.
The Montas of Loss.
You should be ashamed.
You used to be
ol' Frankie the Boss
but you should change your name.

Way up above you, there are fifty thousand people.
Somewhere there's a church with a big tall steeple
Inside the church, there's a saint-directed candle
and people who are praying that the batters you can handle.
For hopes of all these people
you don't give a toss
high on a Montas of Loss.

The Montas of Loss.
The Montas of Loss.
You should be ashamed.
You used to be
ol' Frankie the Boss
but you should change your name.

Way up above you, there are fifty thousand people.
Somewhere there's a church with a big tall steeple
Inside the church, there's a saint-directed candle
and people who are praying that the batters you can handle.
For hopes of all these people
you don't give a toss
high on a Montas of Loss.
High on a Montas of Loss.
High on a Montas of Loss.
High on a Montas of Loss.
(repeat 'til fade)