Baseball? It’s Yours for a Song

You have to pay your taxes. When you give your fans access. To autographs for 20 bucks a pop. You sign your names until they call a cop. And someone from the IRS insists you stop. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . Snider and McCovey. Talkin’ baseball . . . Acting lovey-dovey. Talkin’ Willie, Mickey and the Duke. The Mick did so much drinking. Don’t know what he was thinking. We guess he just was such a happy fellow. Whose hand kept shaking like a bowl of Jell-O. If only he could see his liver turning yellow. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . Strawberry and Mantle. Talkin’ baseball . . . Both ends of the candle. And not just Willie, Mickey and the Duke. Well, young Black Jack McDowell. Heard all the Bronx fans howl. As soon as some opponent hit a dinger. So Black Jack gave the Bronx his middle finger. And promptly got his you-know-what caught in the wringer. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . Another dumb damn Yankee. Talkin’ baseball . . . No wonder fans are cranky. They still miss Willie, Mickey and the Duke. Barry Bonds, he drove a ball. Toward the right-field wall. Then stood at home admiring what he’d done. The only thing Bonds didn’t do was run. With Barry it’s not one for all, it’s all for one. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . Another sleeping Giant. Talkin’ baseball . . . Acting so defiant. The modern Willie, Mickey and the Duke. The fans sat through a strike. When ballplayers took a hike. For once their anger wasn’t toward an ump. A customer should not feel like a chump. Yet any day Vince Coleman just might make one jump. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . Never turn your back or . . . Talkin’ baseball . . . He’ll toss a firecracker. And he’s no Willie, Mickey or the Duke. Ty Cobb was such a bigot. Babe Ruth, he drained the spigot. And Shoeless Joe, he couldn’t read his name. But all we cared was that they played the game. And that Pete Rose be welcome at the Hall of Fame. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . Hitters, pitchers, catchers. Talkin’ baseball . . . Crooks and drunks and lechers. Not you, Willie, Mickey or you, Duke. Now who among us has time To view the national pastime If this is how our baseball players behave? Who cares who got the victory or the save? They haven’t got enough fans left to do a wave. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . Ballclubs chasing pennants. Talkin’ baseball . . . With falling attendance. Where are you, Willie, Mickey and the Duke? At least with Ripken in the infield. And with Maddux, Gwynn and Winfield. Things are not as bleak as they might seem. We still hold Kirby Puckett in esteem. And Mattingly’s survived the owner of his team. We’re talkin’ baseball . . . The end of an era. Talkin’ baseball . . . Come back, Yogi Berra. And you, too, Willie, Mickey and the Duke.