The legend lives on from old Mudville on down
of the big lug they called Mighty Casey.
A brilliant outlook, no, this team it was cooked
unless Mighty could make that look hasty.

With a load of big bat he could make that ball splat
but preceding his place were Flynn and Blake.
The former, you see, was lulu by degree
and the latter, he was such a big cake.

But Case was the pride of the old Mudville side
and he'd have his chance to be the hero.
'Cause Flynn hit, my word, and he was hugging third
when Blake doubled, so he's not a zero.

Then arose quite a roar from five thousand throats more
as old Casey strode up to the platter.
And it didn't seem queer when he gave a big sneer
to the pitcher, 'twas such a bold batter.

Well Casey stepped in and the fans thought he would win
as the pitcher let go of the spheroid.
Did Casey not swing? Seemed a very strange thing.
Could past heroics be by steroid?

So umpire called, "Strike one!" fans were appalled
and someone on the stand shouted, "Kill him!"
But the noise from the stand stopped as Case raised his hand
with one gesture he's able to still 'em.

The hurler saw him point with vigor and vim
and say, "Come on, Meat, throw me the pellet."
So the moundsman wound up from his cap to his cup
and he threw a good curveball, to tell it.

The ump said, "Strike two!" and the fans, well, they knew
that old Casey, he should have been swinging.
And one cried out, "Fraud!" but the crowd was all awed.
With one Casey look, ended the stinging.

With cruel violence Casey's lumber descends
'cause with 0-2 count, swinging then mattered.
And the pitcher reared back, Casey made his attack
and from the force of his blow, air is shattered!

Oh somewhere in land, men laugh or play in bands
and bright shines the sun, no rain in puddle.
But I tell you, boy, here, there was none of joy:
Came the wreck of the ballclub of Mudville!

Does anyone know where the legend did go
when the Mighty Casey up and struck out?
He once was their chum, now they call him a bum
and they told him that he threw their luck out.

Hey might have popped up or he might have realized
that let that pitch go's what he oughta.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of sad fans and their sons and their daughters!

On a musty old ballfield he coaches the team
but since that day, the club's been in trouble.
No Pennants, and worse, they now talk of a curse
on the wreck of the ballclub of Mudville!

The legend lives on from old Mudville on down
of the hex, the Curse of Mighty Casey.
This team ain't the Cubs, or the Red Sox, such flubs
but deny a curse, you'll be quite spacey!