Right down the middle I give it a ride
But I got a weakness for low and outside
Don’t curve me
It unnerves me
I’m batting 217
I twice hit 300 before I was beaned.
It’s fielding I love
I’m the man with the glove
My throws are an eyeful
My arm it’s a rifle
And I’ve still enough speed to plug up the holes
Three times I stole home but the years take their toll.
It was raining
In spring training
And I never got loose
My wife says it’s no use
And she’s right, you know, if I wanted to be rich
I’ve four mouths to feed, I’m a son of a bitch.
There’s a kid coming up, he hits and he’s fast
The team is dragging, we’re second to last
The fans are great, they cheer out of sentiment
I keep going on bourbon and linament
Baseball’s in my blood, my knee’s in a bandage
Next year’s uncertain, but I hope to manage.