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There is a curse in Mudville town,
but that is just a simile.
For Boston is like Mudville town,
just go ask Johnny Pesky.
There are strange things that happen here
when people think we’ve won.
But when you think the game is over, the curse has just begun.
Johnny Pesky, Billy Buckner, many victims know,
that Babe the best has cursed the rest
for letting himself go.
We could have been the best they said
if it weren’t for no good Frazee,
the owner whose name we dread
for trading good old snazzy.
The victimized players they don’t blame
the curse of the bambino.
But in our minds we think the same,
The Red Sox know and we know.
It’s just a superstition, Buckner spouted in his youth
but then the curse took on new forms,
like a baseball guided by Ruth.
It doesn’t matter through the legs,
or hesitation throw.
There was no wine or party kegs
when they let the big man go.
So the team is gone forevermore
if only Fraz had stopped,
the trade that knocked down Boston’s door,
and still torments the sox.
The World Series, they will never be won
by the baseball team that’s cursed,
because when you think it’s good and done,
It takes a turn for the worst
But somewhere children laugh and dance
and somewhere old men shout.
But there is no joy in Boston,
yes; the Red Sox have struck out..
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