From the Harrisburg Telegraph, May 6, 1914. By Wing Dinger.
They make-a greata beega noise
In deesa town to-day,
Da crowds all leesten to da tune
Da beega brass band play.
I ask, “What ees dees fuss about,
Why do dey yell hurray?”
And some one tell me, “Why, you boob,
Da season starts to-day.”
I follow to da park dey call
Da baseball field, and pay
My leetle quart for one small tick
To see da two teams play.
Da players throw da ball about;
Da crowds dey yell and shout;
Some times da man day call da “ump”
Says “safe,” and sometimes “out.”
And when he say “you’re safe” to one
Of da home team, he’s right,
But if he say “you’re out,” da bunch
Gets mad enough to fight.
I wouldn’t want to be da ump,
He’s got one nasty job;
No matter what he says da crowd
Calls him one great beeg slob.
But seeng of love for chickens, cows
And war, with all eets strife,
To seet upon da bleachers at
A ball game, dat’s da life.
Comments are closed.