The legend lives on from the Duwamish on down
of the phenomenon called SoDo Mojo.
Opponents, it's said, of the Mariners are dead
but to believe it, you would be a bozo.

With a load of bullcrap, forty-seven thousand clap
in the walls of the ballpark called Safeco.
The kids cutting loose for the Mariner Moose
and a Japanese twerp called Ichiro.

The team was the pride of the Northwestern side
coming out of an old concrete toadstool.
The Kingdome was gone, but the Mariners moved on.
The American League West was roadkill.

In nineteen ninety-five, the team came so alive
beating out the mighty New York Yankees.
But two thousand came, interrupting their fame
when the Ghosts of October got cranky.

In two thousand one, there was business undone
with a staff and bullpen not-so-fluky.
With Cameron and Boone hitting balls to the moon
and the amazing Ichiro Suzki.

They won one-sixteen and they acted so mean
but the Ghosts of October came callin'.
Piniella, he knows, he was one of the Ghosts.
'Twould be great shame if they were now fallin'.

When the Indians rocked, Sweet Lou came on deck
sayin', "Fellas, it's been rough, but we'll win."
On October eighteen, ah, on came Mike Mussina.
Lou said, "I've got this big sinkin' feelin'!"

Soriano hit one out, Mariano came on
with a fastball and cutter so heinous.
And as Tuesday dawned, with World Series rings pawned
came the wreck of the Edgar Martinez.

Does anyone know where the love of the game goes
with the Yanks a World Series repeater?
The pundits all said the M's wouldn't be dead
if they'd had a Posada or Jeter.

They might have talked big, but now they have capsized
in the Yankee Stadium interior.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of a team that's the Yankees' inferior.

The Number 4 rolls on the Lexington Line
on the East Side of island Manhattan.
Emerging to light every October night
which the Mets out in Queens just ain't gettin'.

And father below, where the Cyclones now blow
the old Dodgers once had beatings rendered.
Dem Brooklyn Bums show what the Mariners now know
with the Ghosts of October remembered.

In a musty old hall in Seattle they cried
o'er their loss to Joe Torre the genius.
The church bell chimed 'til it rang three hundred times
for each pound on old Edgar Martinez.

The legend lives on from the Duwamish on down
of the phenomenon called SoDo Mojo.
Opponents, it's said, of the Mariners are dead
but to believe it, you would be a bozo.