Way back in the nineteen hundreds
The year was numbered seventy four
A man swung his bat into history
He wore number forty four

It was an April night in Georgia
Seven minutes had passed the ninth evening hour
When Hammerin’ Hank was at the plate
About to again demonstrate his power

In the fourth inning his team was behind
Only scoring one run thus far, the opponents scoring three
But the three to one score was about to change
Mr. Aaron was about to make history

Stepping up to the plate
It was his second time this evening
The crowd booed at an earlier drawn walk
This time the fans would be reeling

Over fifty thousand people
Packed the stadium that night
He watched as the first pitch was inside
The next ball, he would redirect its flight

Sixty feet and six inches away
Downing hurled the sphere wrapped in white leather
Towards a lumberjack who saw a pitch he liked
And swung his lumber with pleasure

His first swing of the night gave the world
Something it had never seen
Through sixty two degrees of drizzly night air
Hank Aaron launched home run number 715