BASE-BALL BALLADS.
I've played some games that I tried hard to win;
But this is my world's series championship;
And if I lose, back to the minor bin
For your young uncle—that's my one best tip.
To-night I'll call, and risk an awful freeze
By showing her just how to work the "squeeze."
But this is my world's series championship;
And if I lose, back to the minor bin
For your young uncle—that's my one best tip.
To-night I'll call, and risk an awful freeze
By showing her just how to work the "squeeze."
III.
Say, I'm the lemon leaguer on a slump;
In love's ball game the bench is where I sit.
I couldn't foul one, much less make a hit
Or tie the game up with a timely thump.
I had a chance to make good on the jump;
But when I tried to grab her little mitt,
I dropped it first, and then I fumbled it,
Playing the game like some bone-headed chump.
Say, I'm the lemon leaguer on a slump;
In love's ball game the bench is where I sit.
I couldn't foul one, much less make a hit
Or tie the game up with a timely thump.
I had a chance to make good on the jump;
But when I tried to grab her little mitt,
I dropped it first, and then I fumbled it,
Playing the game like some bone-headed chump.
But when at last I got my eye and tried
To work the "squeeze," she coached me to my place.
"Get back," she warbled. "Slide, you lobster, slide;
Don't take too long a lead from off your base:
Just play it safe, you mutt; first time at bat
Is not the place to spring a play like that."
To work the "squeeze," she coached me to my place.
"Get back," she warbled. "Slide, you lobster, slide;
Don't take too long a lead from off your base:
Just play it safe, you mutt; first time at bat
Is not the place to spring a play like that."
IV.
This game of love is not my longest suit;
Doping it out has put wheels in my bun.
Just as you think you've got the pennant won,
Bum luck will land you on the soapy chute;
You come back hard, but every time you boot
Each chance you get until the game is done;
And when at last you need the tying run,
There ain't no bleacher bugs to rise and root.
This game of love is not my longest suit;
Doping it out has put wheels in my bun.
Just as you think you've got the pennant won,
Bum luck will land you on the soapy chute;
You come back hard, but every time you boot
Each chance you get until the game is done;
And when at last you need the tying run,
There ain't no bleacher bugs to rise and root.
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