Good riddance to the 70’s when disco was the rage   
12” vynyl singles, lip synching from the stage                                            The White Sox near the cellar, there were mostly empty seats                 There was the usual sarcasm from the writers on the beat

The owner of the White Sox was a fellow named Bill Veeck                
Master of promotions, things you never would expect
The guy who signed a midget and sent him up to bat   
He signed off on an idea even crazier than that

In between games of a twilight doubleheader
A Rock & Roll DJ would blow up disco records
If you brought an LP and dropped it in the crate
Admission would only be 98 cents at the gate

On the busses to the ballpark there weren’t a lot of kids
There weren’t a lot of baseball caps, or a lot baseball mitts
People had been drinking long before they paid their fares
Traffic on the Dan Ryan backed up to O’Hare

Comiskey Park, Chicago, didn’t have as many seats
As was needed to accommodate the thousands in the streets
They started climbing fences, they started climbing poles
They had come to conquer in the name of Rock & Roll

A slight miscalculation, they had underestimated
By just how many people disco was so deeply hated
More police were needed but nobody thought to call   
A person on the sidewalk burned a John Travolta doll

It really was a miracle no one was killed or maimed
By disco record frisbees throughout the opening game
Some shattered on the dugout, some knifed into the grass
Some numbskulls roamed around looking to kick somebody’s ass

The White Sox lost the opener whether anyone noticed it or not
There was trouble brewing in the air but all you could smell was pot
The crowd was getting restless for the real show to begin
When the grounds crew came a’ hauling all those disco records in

The jeep the DJ rode in on stopped in centerfield
The driver left the motor running, kept his hands upon the wheel
One foot on the gas pedal, one foot on the brake
Lorelei the supermodel, she just smiled and waved

The crowd was in a frenzy, they were yelling “Disco Sucks!”
It was very nearly rapture when they blew the records up
Sky high went the pieces, some landed in St. Paul  
Most people yelled “Whoo-Hoo!” and drank more alcohol

About then a bunch of knuckleheads jumped the right field wall
The jeep got through it just in time before the free for all
There were several thousand of them tearing up the grass
Lighting things on fire, more than half an hour passed

Harry Caray stood at home plate, his face as red as beets
He pleaded through the PA system, “Go back to your seats!”
The crowd began to mimic him with a “Go back to your seats, HEY!”
The couple having sex at 2nd base did not obey

The cops arrived on horseback, encircling the riot     
Things calmed down in a hurry, things pretty soon got quiet
The 2nd game was forfeited, the ball field was a wreck
But disco was eradicated partly thanks to Mr. Veeck

Good riddance to the 70’s when disco was the rage   
12” vynyl singles, lip synching from the stage
The White Sox near the cellar, there were mostly empty seats                 There was the usual sarcasm from the writers on the beat