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WHEN THE BUG IS ON THE BAWL.
Come, sing ye, Jimmy Riley, from your ancient lyric stock,
"When the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock,"
And we'll let the bounding echoes catch the lyric in your lay
As it darts around the bases to the outfield and away;
For there's music in its make-up and there's rhythm in its run,
With a touch of "back to nature" in its sentiment of fun.
But in some way it has struck us that the theme is out of date,
As a new age comes a-whizzing and a-curving by the plate;
So we'll start another chorus as the echoes rise and fall:
"When the bat is on the bingle and the bug is on the bawl."
"When the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock,"
And we'll let the bounding echoes catch the lyric in your lay
As it darts around the bases to the outfield and away;
For there's music in its make-up and there's rhythm in its run,
With a touch of "back to nature" in its sentiment of fun.
But in some way it has struck us that the theme is out of date,
As a new age comes a-whizzing and a-curving by the plate;
So we'll start another chorus as the echoes rise and fall:
"When the bat is on the bingle and the bug is on the bawl."
Come, sing ye, Jimmy Riley, and we'll listen to your strain,
But we find our thoughts a-straying from the waving of the grain
To the waving of the bludgeons as the batters draw 'em back,
And they wave against the trade-mark with a wallop and a whack,
But we find our thoughts a-straying from the waving of the grain
To the waving of the bludgeons as the batters draw 'em back,
And they wave against the trade-mark with a wallop and a whack,
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