[Original lyrics here.]

William Beanecounter waived poor Toddie Linden
With a phone that he dialed with his '89 Series ring finger
As the Oakland A's DL was slowly increasin'
And the scrubs were called up and the offense was suckin'
As balls bounced off of Cust and Emil at the stadium
Fans begged William Beanecounter for trades as with Mulder.
But you who sabermetricize the A's and criticize manageers,
Take no flag in the AL West race.
Now is a rebuilding year.

[Full Poetic Interlude after the jump.]

The Lonesome Release of Toddie Linden

William Beanecounter waived poor Toddie Linden
With a phone that he dialed with his '89 Series ring finger
As the Oakland A's DL was slowly increasin'
And the scrubs were called up and the offense was suckin'
As balls bounced off of Cust and Emil at the stadium
Fans begged William Beanecounter for trades as with Mulder.
But you who sabermetricize the A's and criticize manageers,
Take no flag in the AL West race.
Now is a rebuilding year.

William Beanecounter, who at forty-six years
Runs an MLB team of some hundred-odd players
With rich wealthy patrons who desire a new stadium
And front office relations in the franchises of MLB,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And chair throws and sneering, and his team it was losing,
With runners on bases on ball four were walking.
But you who sabermetricize the A's and criticize manageers,
Stockpile swag at an increasin' pace.
Fremont'll feature twelve-dollar beers.

Toddie Linden was a man of the outfield.
He was twenty-eight years old and played ball for eight seasons
Whose '08 stats bested Swish's and thus he took umbrage
But he'd never played once at the replacement level
And didn't even get called up to help set the table
Who just cleaned up against rooks as best he was able
And pilloried strapped-cash A's as some bull-shitting devils,
Got hurt in his elbow, laid bare by a chair
That sailed through the air and came down to Sactoo,
Groomed were other prospects by the GM temp'ramental.
And he never done nothing to William Beanecounter.
But you who sabermetricize the A's and criticize manageers,
Bet that nag couldn't maintain his pace.
Nor ain't done so for his career.

In fair Oakland in daytime, Jack Cust pounded his maple
To show that some 4-A's to crush pitchers are able
And saw the swings of the rooks whether pulled or oppo-fielded
And that even the vet'rans got properly handled
Once that the GM has chased after and signed 'em
And that the batters with flaws have no top and no bottom,
Sometimes people lead off for no rhyme and no reason
Who just happened to be hittin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through the press, distressed and deep anguished,
Angry because down in Sacto he'd languished,
William Beanecounter crushed all his fond dreams and wish's
Oh, but you who sabermetricize the A's and criticize manageers,
Pack his bags for some other place
For Todd's not as good as this year.