And now, the bench is clear
The pennant race, the final inning
I tense, I brace for jeers
The team we face, so sure of winning
I'm up, the count is full
The fans are freaked and very irate
To score the score that wins
I hope it's my fate

Deep left, I whack it true
But then the wind, it screws intentions
My hit, just a tad askew
I watch it slew and bounce untended
The fans scream out and roar
The cheers are loud and strong as I race
To score the score that wins
That could be my case

Time after time, I'd stirred much gloom
When I was off, courting certain doom
With stupid brawls and careless outs
Disgraceful muffs and hitless bouts
I raged and bawled
When my wood stalled
And lessened my wage

His glove is fat and wide
He's standing still, prepared for bruising
"I'm out," in fear, I cry
He spots the ball as I'm moving
He winks and blocks my path
A race for plate is not a wise play
But though my coach does scream
I make it my day

The rush is so grand, why should I stop?
I need no help when I'm so hot
My daring brings unruly squeals
I'm not deterred by one who kneels
The catcher knows
I ducked the throw
And slid in sideways

I slid in sideways