Base-Ball Ballads/Songs of Swat—"You Uster Bat .300"

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SONGS OF SWAT—"YOU USTER BAT .300."

A once Big Leaguer slid in home at 3 a.m. one mornWith a perfect fielding average in the League of Barleycorn.He had pulled down fifteen high balls, every one quite warm and hot,And at every chance presented he was Wagner on the spot.But as he fumbled at the key his wife was waiting thereWith his favorite ash furniture suspended in the air;And as he tried to curve across she bunted at his headAnd slammed a triple on his neck as viciously she said:
Chorus.
"You uster to hit .300—O, your batting was immense!You uster slam 'em every day against the left field fence;But now you're in a bush league, for there ain't no guy in sightCan bat around three hundred, Bo, who bats around all night."
The Leaguer tried to play it safe before she fanned him out."I'll make a sacrifice," he cried, "but ease up on that clout; ​Hans Wagner never saw the day when he could hit like that.I only wish that John McGraw could see you swing a bat."In vain he tried to score a run; in vain he shed each tear;In vain he tried to reach his mask and breast protector near.She tagged him all around the room, no matter how he'd slide,And rapped out doubles on his back as viciously she cried:
Chorus.
"You uster to hit .300—O, your batting eye was great!The pitchers uster to jump the league when you came to the plate;But now they've got you faded, for there ain't no guy in sightCan bat around three hundred, Bo, who bats around all night."
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