Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again

Oh, the Budman talks in circles
Up and down the block.
I'd ask him what the matter was
But I know that he don't talk.
And the reporters treat him kindly
And blindly capture words on tape,
But deep inside my heart
I know I can't escape.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Well, Prospectus, it's out of the galleys
With its pointed barbs and its stats,
As confusing as some French girls,
Who wear those beret hats.
And some don't get the message
To find out how much he's walked,
Ignore the bases stolen
And the algorithm is locked.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Mona tried to tell me
Don't buy the public funding line.
She said that all the owner men
Just drink up your tax like wine.
An' I said, "Oh, I didn't know that,
But then again, there's only one I've met
He charged 10 bucks a beer
An' 5 for the toilet."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Selig died last week
And now he's buried in the rocks,
But everybody still talks about
How badly they were shocked.
But me, I expected it to happen,
I knew he'd lost control
When he built a fire for contraction
Til the plan was shot full of holes.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now the senators grandstanded
Showing off their acumen,
Handing out free tickets
To the grilling of Clemens.
McNamee's already busted
Roger tapdanced through the fuss
Sidestepping the inquisition
Throwing his wife under the bus.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now Plaschke looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With twenty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his chest.
But he cursed me when I proved to him,
Then I whispered, "Not even you can hide.
LoDuca was a bad guy,
I hope you're satisfied."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now the trainer gave me two cures,
Then he said, "Jump right in."
The one was lidocaine,
The other was just a vitamin.
An' like a fool I mixed them
The swelling was not sublime,
My butt's just getting uglier
An' I may have to do some time.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

When Babe Ruth says come see him
In his Field of Dreams lagoon,
Where I can watch him play for free
'Neath a daydream moon.
An' I say, "Aw come on now,
You must know about the drag bunt."
An' he says, "Your drag bunt shows off your speed
But homers are what you want."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.

Now the bricks stand at Wrigley
Where the neon madmen climb.
They all fall there so perfectly,
It all seems so well timed.
An' here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be Stuck Inside Mom's Basement With the Spreadsheet Blues Again.