paroles de chanson What a Game - Mark Jacoby , Ragtime Ensemble

You'll like baseball
It's a civilized pastime

In a world gone mad, there is comfort to be had
In the game Father played at school
Men of class, competing on the grass
Where sportsmanship and fellowship
And courtesy
Are the rule

PLAY BALL!

Ain't this the kinda weather
For smackin' leather
For playin' baseball

The kind of weather makes a man
Hit like hell!

Let's go, you sons o' bitches!

Let's see some pitches!

Let's play some baseball

The Kraut is strikin' out again!

Schmidt, ya smell!

The Giants haven't got a prayer

Iron underwear!

Up your alley!

Go back to where your mother once came!

Hit that ball!
(Run, you bastard!)
Hit that ball!
(Kill the Kraut!)
What a game!

Hey, Schnabel, take your head outta your ass!
I guess that's tellin' him, huh?

Hey, Schnabel, take your head—!

At Harvard
We were gentlemen
Men were gentlemen

So's your sister!

We called each other mister, and—

Doyle, ya suck!

Don't listen!
Our games were very quiet
We'd never riot, we'd—

Eat that baseball!

The worst we ever said would be—

Run, ya schmuck!

Don't listen!
Now here's this noisy rabble, this foreign babble, who let this happen?
There's hardly one American name!

Yah, Herzog!

Hit that ball!
(Stupid Polack!)
Hit that ball!
(Kill the Kike!)
What a game!

It's Braves and Giants two-to-two
The pitcher's name is Hub Purdue
Jack Murray's now up at bat!

My God, would somebody look at that!

Ain't this the kind of weather
To get together and—
(Bash his teeth in!)
The kind of weather makes a man hit like hell!
A fine, uplifting atmosphere
Bring your children here
Teach them baseball
The game all true Americans do
Damn well!
It's like the constitution
The institution
Of dear old baseball
Where every man is treated the same!

Kill that Mick!
(Run, you Polack!)
Strike that Kike!
(Kill the Kraut!)

What a
What a
What a—

Up your alley!

Edgar!

Game!