In old Boston MA,
Sidewalks, parks, even through the public T,
Night, morning, through the day,
They're running up your ass, towards your balls,
Wearing all sorts of garb,
Spandex, camel sacks, toques, mitts, fanny packs,
Sprinting through intersections like retards,
Splashing! Weaving! Being all fit and stuff,
Enough to make you sick,
They could all jog right into the harbor,
I wouldn't give a lick.
'Cause here's the thing,
I like to run also,
But when I'm the guy having to watch it,
It's like seeing a car accident show.