The legend lives on from Port Authority on down
of the bus service much worse than Amtrak.
It might seem real cheap, but they're still bunch of creeps
so be warned that it might be a scam, Jack!

With a load of bus riders, we piled inside 'er
at the 42nd Street bus terminal.
'Twould be 500 miles, but there would be few smiles
'cause the bus ride became quite infernal!

This crummy bus ride crossed to Hudson's west side
back into my home State of New Jersey.
I'd hoped to give thanks for a win by the Yanks
but unlike the Tribe, bus showed no mercy!

I had been sure, I'd thought, but it all came for naught
that we'd left fully loaded for Cleveland.
But bus-driver jerk, said, "Son, change in Pittsburgh."
And that's when I got big sinkin' feelin'!

A temping depot welcomed us, don't you know
as the Pittsburgh station's renovated.
A driver threw down with a rider in Youngstown.
Twenty minutes, their fight not abated!

The bus driver screamed at a kid, and it seemed
that his mother was quite apoplectic.
She threw mom and kids off the bus to the skids
and our ride had become very hectic!

When at last we arrived, sat in park's upper deck
saying, "Fellas, the Yanks better win it."
Giambi did clout, Melky too hit one out
and came good pitching from Andy Pettitte!

And at Jacobs Field, Pinstriped win was revealed
as the Yanks gave high fives on the Jake's mound.
But I had to get home, and to give me great groan
came the wreck of this roadtrip on Greyhound!

Again, said the twit, "You change buses in Pitt."
The layover should have been one hour.
But the New York bus full, and new bus they won't pull.
And we all could have used a good shower!

And eleven o'clock came and went to my shock
and we're stuck at the station past midnight.
At A.M. one-thirty, we're tired and dirty
the replacement bus wouldn't come in right!

One-thirty became two, and between me and you
couldn't get good drink from machines vending.
When three o'clock came, I did not feel some shame
when I said Greyhound lives should be ending!

At last came to load and head down the road
of the Turnpike there in Pennsylvania.
But the riders all know, it's a bad way to go.
"Leaving the driving to us?" Greyhound, shame ya!

On a musty old bus, through New Jersey we rolled
at last into New York we had barreled.
I asked, "What's the deal?" Could this be how it would feel
if I'd been on the Edmund Fitzgerald?

The legend lives on how the trip went all wrong
of the bus service that said, "So sue me."
Superior? It's said to suggest that's brain-dead.
And for work today, I was not early!