Detroit’s poor opening week seems to have strongly influenced Iggy Pop’s prognosis for the season that lies ahead. Read on for his full analysis of the team.

I’m cranky and I’m tired, and the Tigers are stinking up the joint at 0-6, ain’t got no fix ’cause Brandon Inge is a rich bitch. They’re uninspired, puttin’ out the fire baby gotta find that desire. Sittin on the porch and rubbing my crotch, this team is full of rot ’cause that’s all they got.

Baby, this team’s gotta fly, they’ve gotta get their eye on the ball, gotta get healthy babe, y’know? Like Maddy on the phone, they need a ray of light to burst their skull but they’re so fucking dull, this is what they say: ain’t gonna drag those Indians down that way.

I’m confused, she’s got her TV eye on this Miggy guy, he’s walkin’ down my street with a hand on my back, funkier than crack, gotta pick up the slack, bud! Polanco is a queen hitting a buck fifteen, he’s stuck in a rut with nothing to fuck and nothing to fight because nothing is right and Watt is a bitch and Albini’s a snitch.

I wanna see D-Train, destroying all batters like a wasted Johnny Sain. Where’s the guts, the drive, the will to survive? I got nothing to do all summer, babe this can’t go on, gotta get on the field and take them on! It’s gonna take Pudge to lift these guys, she’s feeling me with her eyes and her Granderson surprise. No more triples for fifteen days, gotta change these ways if we’re gonna go on now.

Can’t give a fuck about this Todd Jones, I’m jonesing for a fix while she’s giving me her licks. And whaddaya hear about this Zumaya kid? Not gonna be around, gonna have a real cool summer without him on the mound, throwing his heater is all I found to keep my feet on the ground. I need a lover with a memory not a decent ERA, but Verlander ain’t a rookie no more and he’s pitching like a dirty whore. Bonderman’s shit stinks bad and we’re gotta keep from getting had. I wanna feel all right but it’s not a pretty sight unless Sheffield’s in a fight, ’cause he’s a bad ass creep who drives the ball deep.

My confidence is shot. Who said the Tigers would make the playoffs in a lock? This 0-6 hole is sticking in my soul, Bowie’s on my brain and Leyland’s blowing it again, this ain’t China it’s Dee-troit, and we’re not gonna stand for a team whose balls are made of sand. Step it up you dogs, stop draggin’ those tails, I’m pissed and I’m broken so stop your damn choking.