1, 2, 3, 4,
Bannerman.

One man's grinning from behind the net, waits 'til the camera's adjusted,
Don't you worry 'bout the flak you'll get' Aren't you scared of getting busted'
The ball gets booted, it hits the crossbeam; up goes the banner: "John 3:16."

Don't worry 'bout the critics; they'll tow the line,
Don't worry 'bout the cynics; they live to whine,
He ain't gonna change the world, but he knows who can,
Bannerman.

Prime time football in the Buffalo snow; freezing his little epidermis,
Lifts that banner at the first field goal, drinks clam chowder from a thermos,
He never misses a game, he never spells it wrong,
He never talks back when they tell him, "Move along."

Don't worry 'bout the critics; they'll howl for days,
Don't worry 'bout the cynics; they navel-gaze,
He ain't gonna change the world, but he knows who can,
Bannerman.

Sports fans everywhere dying for a drink, but they gotta find a well first,
One man's ready with a banner and a wink,
Whole lotta souls are getting well-versed,
Every time I see him, I smile a little more,
I can't help praying for another high score.

Don't worry 'bout the critics; they'll howl for days,
Don't worry 'bout the cynics; they navel-gaze,
He ain't gonna change the world, but he knows who can,
Bannerman,
Don't worry 'bout the critics; they've met their match,
Don't worry 'bout the cynics; they sniff and scratch,
He ain't gonna change the world, but he knows who can,
Bannerman.