I.
Take it from me, this Single League’s shine,
My heart got batted from the box to-day;
For when we met, the dope says right away:
“She bats .300 on the Peaches’ Nine.”
I’d draft her now, if I thought she would sign
And help me divvy up a season’s pay.
I pitched this at her, but my grandstand play
Went wild. Says she: “No bush league dub for mine.”
Say, she’s the big league kid, or I’m a skate;
For every time I come up—zip, like that,
She shoots those lamps of hers across the plate,
And I strike out, like Casey on a bat;
For when she curves one over from those eyes,
“Three strikes and out” is just about my size.