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Alas poor A-ROD we loved thee well
But all the financial negotiations started to take on a distinctly rancid fish smell
If one home-run hitter could make a team
We would have won the World Series
And reigned supreme
Everybody loves money
And you do too
But all the hands out all the time
Started to resemble feeding time at the Bronx Zoo
For the money we paid you to be a star
We could bring in a busload of left-handed pitchers from the DR
A-Rod we love you but all this money-grubbing ain't funny
We need a team of ambitious young players
Who are willing to work for less money
The kind of loot that you're asking is positively obscene
For that kind of money you could buy your own team
Maybe you could go out to LA with Joe Torre
With a mansion in Brentwood and tons of glory
Just make sure you don't run into OJ
In case he goes crazy before they lock him away
He might be high on pills and take you for his wife
And you could end up running away from his knife
But if you end up wearing a Dodgers cap
The Mets and not us will have to run away from your bat
Some day on the moon when they send out a Moon Rover
It'll probably find the ball from one of your homers
And pretty soon your stack of cash will be so high
It will build a Stairway of Heaven up to the sky
But don't forget that New York is your friend
And we will cheer for you til the end
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Posted on 10/29/2007
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