by Anonymous, 1886

Mother, may I slug the umpire,
May I slug him right away?
So he cannot be here, mother,
When the Clubs begin to play?
Let me clasp his throat, dear mother,
In a dear, delightful grip
With one hand, and with the other
Bat him several in the lip.
Let me climb his frame, dear mother,
While the happy people shout;
I’ll not kill him, dearest mother,
I will only knock him out.
Let me mop the ground up, Mother,
With his person, dearest do;
If the ground can stand it, mother,
I don’t see why you can’t, too.
Mother, may I slug the umpire,
Slug him right between the eyes?
If you let me do it, mother,
You shall have the champion prize.

Quoted in Crazy ‘08 by Cait Murphy.

 Posted 7/28/08

Published in Fans, Pure doggerel, History | Link to this poem |