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BASE-BALL BALLADS.
I admit "the luck broke badly" and the "umpires crimped my chance,"
I confess to "injured players" and a few less minor sins;
Then I jump out in the open and I do a pennant dance,
When the last real game is over and the winter league begins.
I confess to "injured players" and a few less minor sins;
Then I jump out in the open and I do a pennant dance,
When the last real game is over and the winter league begins.
The pitchers I have gathered when the snow begins to fall
Are the wonders of the nation—every one's a Hurling King;
And my outfield—Holy Whiskers!—how that bunch can hit the ball
When they walk up with the willow from October unto spring!
Every player on my pay roll is a star of purest ray,
Till they reach the field of battle, where they're slower on their "pins"
Than a stream of cold molasses, and my phenoms fade away—
But you've got to hand it to me when the winter league begins.
Are the wonders of the nation—every one's a Hurling King;
And my outfield—Holy Whiskers!—how that bunch can hit the ball
When they walk up with the willow from October unto spring!
Every player on my pay roll is a star of purest ray,
Till they reach the field of battle, where they're slower on their "pins"
Than a stream of cold molasses, and my phenoms fade away—
But you've got to hand it to me when the winter league begins.
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