De sho't-stop winks when de ball comin' hot,
An' say he didn' see it w'en fust it sta't,
De fielder he cuss w'en he drop de fly
An' holler to de cap'en de sun's in his eye.
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De cap'en weep w'en de men don' slide,
An' de scorer root w'en de base-hits tied,
De pitcher sad w'en he gib seb'n balls,
But de umpire leer ebry time dat he calls.
De runner brace w'en de ball am passed,
De pitcher squirm w'en de hits come fast,
An' fire de ball at de striker's head,
W'en de nine git blanked, de backer am fled,
De gran'-stand cheers w'en de fab rites win,
But de umpire look like he made out ob tin.
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Class of 1890.
