Rime of the Ancient Bullpen (or David Weathers is a F***ing Seagull)

By Doug White

One after one they came into the game

From free agency and the farm

Each took his place on the mound

And cursed me with his arm

Two times fifteen blown saves

And with plenty a sigh and a groan

With belt-high fastballs and hanging curves

They gave up runs one by one


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