by Stu Shea
Change-up, change-up.
He makes hitters clowns.
It floats to the plate
And it sits right down.
Change-up, change-up.
Off mediocre “heat,”
You feel real comfy,
But still you get beat.
I wonder if Hoffman
Throws change-ups in bed
Or if Mrs. Hoffman
Likes it “dead red.”
Posted 9/27/07
Published in Stu Shea, San Diego Padres, Pure doggerel, Sex, Players | Link to this poem |
