The Ballad of John Rocker Songtext
von Tim Wilson

John Rocker, your proctologist called,
They just found your head
You′ve been awarded the Golden Rubber Glove,
For that stupid crap you said
You've got the loudest mouth in baseball,
Nobody could shut you up
So in New York, even in your street clothes,
You probably oughta wear a cup

John, your off your rocker


Better, clean out that locker
Or go out and throw about 22 perfect games
Son, you′ve clinched a spot
Next to Marge Schotte
In the Dipshit Hall Of Fame
John Rocker, Detective Furhman called
He knows how you feel
And I bet you Congressman David Duke
Would probably help with your appeal
Maybe you won't get suspended
Or have to pay that 20 grand
But if you can't close for the Braves right now,
You can start for the Ku Klux Klan

John, you′re off your rocker
Thank God you don′t play soccer
Cause you'd probably get killed in a riot in the stands
If you do an interview again, Ted said he′s bringin' in
A gay right handed pitcher from Japan
(Preferrably mute)