Ever since he was a schoolboy,
he played with pigskin balls.
He’d throw ’em when they hiked ’em. . .
heard the clarion call.
Now some would like to indict him
because of his tragic fall.

That “dense, dumb,” lyin’ kid
deflates the team’s footballs.

He clams [up] like a statue
after saying nothing’s seen.
Being like a dumbshit:
“What could they all mean?!”
Plays prevarication
like a seasoned pol.

That dense, dumb, lyin’ kid
deflates the team’s footballs.

He’s a football gripper
whose hand ain’t in a fist,
a football gripper;
the truth he’s gotta twist.

How do you think he does it?
We don’t know!
That makes him so good.

But, they judged: infractions,
said that he knew all too well.
So sanctions they are passin’.
He’ll appeal as well:
goin’ for a replay,
hopin’ for recall.

That dense, dumb, lyin’ kid
deflates the team’s footballs.

He thought he was the ball-deflator king,
but Roger handed on four big downs to him.

Penalties are on the table;
Roger beats his chest.
What Tom did with the pigskin
sullies his bequest.
A deflation grip for fingers
brought on his downfall.

You’d best bide your time, kid,
sit on the bench next fall.