Hook
Green Monsters, walls tall, we rockin’ Bean Town,
Fenway nights, bright lights, we shut that scene down.
From Pesky’s Pole to the Red Seat, swing that dream now,
Boston stand up, Sox Nation—scream loud!
Verse 1
Kick the needle, let the vinyl hiss, boom-bap roll,
Red clay on the whites, tuck the logo on the soul.
Raffy at the hot corner—lefty thunder, let it go,
Laser show without the mic, just the barrel sayin’ “whoa.”
Casas with the swagger, steady pacing out the box,
Trevor Story writing chapters on the dirt with the Sox.
Jarren turns a single to a triple with the jets,
Rafaela robbing fences, stealing headlines with the nets.
Wilyer in the corner, whipping lasers on a rope,
Bello paint the black, now the hitters outta hope.
Houck with the slider like a trap door drop,
Kutter cut it, make it dance, cue the b-boys pop.
Vaughn in the infield, hands smooth, feet glide,
Young guns in the tunnel got that hungry Red Sox pride—
Mayer at the doorstep, Teel on the line,
Future so bright, crowd shades in the shrine.
Hook
Green Monsters, walls tall, we rockin’ Bean Town,
Fenway nights, bright lights, we shut that scene down.
From Pesky’s Pole to the Red Seat, swing that dream now,
Boston stand up, Sox Nation—scream loud!
Verse 2
Pre-game on Jersey Street, sausage smoke in the air,
Wally with the wobble, kids point, stop and stare.
“Shipping Up to Boston” got the crowd in a surge,
Dirty Water after W’s, that victory purge.
Scoreboard clicks, organ riffs, echoes on the bricks,
Bat boys sprint, pine tar, superstition in the mix.
Skippers tip caps, legends walk in the lore,
Pedro, Papi, and the Curse no more.
Look—Devers with the shuffle, then he barrels that flame,
Casas to the bullpen, souvenir claim.
Duran chasin’ daylight, wheels so mean,
Ceddanne paint a postcard green on green.
Crawford dial tone: strike one, strike two,
Houck whispers “goodnight,” make the lumber say “phew.”
Bello in a trance, crowd bounce to the beat,
Fenway heartbeat, that old park’s fleet.
Hook
Green Monsters, walls tall, we rockin’ Bean Town,
Fenway nights, bright lights, we shut that scene down.
From Pesky’s Pole to the Red Seat, swing that dream now,
Boston stand up, Sox Nation—scream loud!
Hands up on Lansdowne, catch that ricochet bounce,
Bleachers thumping like a MPC count.
Keep score with a pencil, old soul in the stands,
New school on the diamond with championship plans.
Verse 3
April wind chill to the Dog Days blaze,
Still the Park sold out, that Sox fan craze.
From the pole named Pesky to the 502 seat,
Every blade of grass got a story on repeat.
Clubhouse talk quiet, but the bats stay loud,
We don’t do quit—just rally the crowd.
Nine frames later and the lights go dim,
But the echoes in the bricks say “We don’t end. We begin.”
Final Hook
Green Monsters, walls tall, we rockin’ Bean Town,
Fenway nights, bright lights, we shut that scene down.
From Pesky’s Pole to the Red Seat, swing that dream now,
Boston stand up, Sox Nation—scream loud!
Juni
