So here's a letter to Zito

Well zito I hear 'em talkin', they're sayin' you're done
Git a rusted up gone, yeah, a locker room for sun
Well let me tell you as tory from a long time ago
About a group of old boys who just loved playin' ball
They called themselves the wahoos and they'r roam town to town
Playin' their baseball in any town that they found
They'd walk for miles, sometimes hop a train
They'd sleep under the stars, dreamin' of the next game
When they'd wake in the mornin' they'd shake of that dew
Become a whirlwind of ash wood in every town thy'd go through
They had ground balls for breakfast, fly balls for lunch
They loved victory for dinner, sometimes there weren't much
They answered to no man, they were free like the wind
They had each others back, they were each others kin
The only thing they lived for was just playing ball
Baseball that's all it was, their God given call
So Zito, my brother, this is your time
Fuck all those yahoos, remember the wahoos
And Zito, you'll be just fine
Just fuck all those yahoos, remember the wahoos
And Zito, you'll be just fine
You'll be just fine