On the White Sox’ Rubber Soul

You say your batters can’t swing it?
Their Whiffing gives you chills?
I got an old-school remedy for
Fixin’ all your ills.

Take all your Louisville sluggers,
Arrange them in a stack,
Then get ready for a mighty hoodoo
(There ain’t no turnin back).

Now get yourself some love dolls–
You know the kind I mean,
Those cute gals made of polymerized

Inflate them gals and set them round
Your mighty pile of sticks
And pray for their blow-up blessings
And soon you’ll get your licks.

You’ll feel your eyeballs quicken
And your pencil fill with lead,
And by August the White Sox will be
Twenty games ahead.

But don’t blaspheme the rubber gods
Or disrespect their medicine,
Or they’ll do to you just what they did to
Brian Anderson.