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"THE MAJOR LEAGUER'S DAUGHTER;" OR, "THE TURNING OF THE TIDE."
(Up to the hour of going to press the music of this soon-to-be popular ballad had not been written. The sport department office boy was out at the time, while the janitor was busy; so any who peruse it must compose their own music to the selection.)
They were seated in the parlor, where the gas was burning low.
And he held her little paw within his own;
He looked at her and whispered: "Mame, you know I love you so;
You've made more hits with me than Fielder Stone,
Your curves look awful good to me, your speed is just my style."
But here he stopped and sadly bowed his head;
The decision was against him, he was out about a mile,
When unto him these cruel words she said:
And he held her little paw within his own;
He looked at her and whispered: "Mame, you know I love you so;
You've made more hits with me than Fielder Stone,
Your curves look awful good to me, your speed is just my style."
But here he stopped and sadly bowed his head;
The decision was against him, he was out about a mile,
When unto him these cruel words she said:
Chorus.
"I am the only daughter of a major league phenom,
While you are but an unknown bush league bloke.
My old man hits .300 almost every season, Tom;
While they tell me that your average is a joke.
Some day when you are drafted or you have a batting eye,
I may listen to the words you have to say;
"I am the only daughter of a major league phenom,
While you are but an unknown bush league bloke.
My old man hits .300 almost every season, Tom;
While they tell me that your average is a joke.
Some day when you are drafted or you have a batting eye,
I may listen to the words you have to say;
79
