O, Albert! My Albert!

O Albert! My Albert! Your time with the team is done;
Cards Nation will weather your defection, the prize we sought not won;
The park is near, the cries I hear, the people all disgusted,
Disappointed in The Machine, El Hombre we must miss:

But O heart! heart! heart!
bleeding drops of Cardinals red,
While the on-deck circle is bare,
5 no more is said.


O Albert! My Albert! rise up and hear the jeers;
Rise up, for you the banner's flung, Stan's harmonica goes still;
For you, bouquets and ribboned wreathes, for you the stands a-crowding;
For you they'll call, the swaying masses; their eager faces spurning;
Here Albert! dear hitter!
This cap fits not your head
A bad dream: the on-deck circle is bare, 5 no more is said.


My Albert does not answer, his lips are pursed and still;
My Hombre does not feel my wrath, he has no pulse nor will;
Clydesdales are stabled safe and sound, 11th victory lap long done;
To Junior League your fearful trip, no pennant win will come;

Exult, Anaheim! And ring the Angel's bells!
But I with mournful dread,
Look at the on-deck circle,
Where 5 no more is said.