Bobby Bonilla

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Father son and holy smokes
They killed the hero of my bicycle spokes
He played third base and had some pretty good stats
When he punched the water cooler, I knew he was mad
Father Paul called it a rebuilding year
New York was calling and you're leaving us here 
On our own
You'll never know a man if you judge him by wins
Care more about hits than the runs batted in
You gotta play the hand you're dealt in the clubhouse
And quitters never really lose
In the playoffs, got paid off, and Madoff with our hearts
You were a cancer to your franchise, tore the whole team apart
But they still gotta pay Bobby Bonilla

They're all gonna hate us, like Bobby Bonilla
We'll laugh at this later, like Bobby Bonilla
Show em the Bronx baby, like Bobby Bonilla
Like Bobby Bo
Bobby Bonilla

I'm sliding into first, just padding my stats
Some plays are just for love, not the pat on the back
I led the league in gettin hit by pitch
When they try to back you off, don't give em an inch
The Mets bet on America and you bet on yourself
Pinch hitter's been acquitted, you can blame someone else
They still gotta pay Bobby Bonilla

They're all gonna hate us, like Bobby Bonilla
We'll laugh at this later, like Bobby Bonilla
Show em the Bronx baby, like Bobby Bonilla
Like Bobby Bo
Bobby Bonilla

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