They matched me up with a bird ...
They matched me up that night with a bird that was a fright,
The Anaconda Kid from Amsterdam,
His face was like a fable, his wrist a hawser’s cable;
His shoulder was a gable, his arm a battering ram.
He rushed me from the bell like a roaring ape from Hell
And I put a wicked left against his chin,
But his left hand found me and his right swing crowned me
And the fogs closed round me and the ring began to spin.
A surf was roaring loud which I reckoned was the crowd
Gone cookoo as babies in their cribs.
At the gong my knees were knocking, I was weaving, ducking, blocking,
I went to my corner rocking with a couple broken ribs.
For the second gory round he came roaring with a bound
Seeing he had victory in his grasp,
I let go my right and duck him—just above the belt it took him
And I know that I have shook him for he halted with a gasp.
He dropped his guard a second—long enough for me I reckoned—
And the crowd went crazy where they sat
For my left hand battered and my right hand shattered
Till the red blood splattered on the great grey mat.
Oh, how they did yell and whoop when I knocked him for a loop
Just about a couple counts before the bell.
They’d have gave as loud a bellow had I been the losing fellow—
God, a crowd is yellow—yellow—all of them can go to Hell.