It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day
The score stood two to four but with one inning left to play
So when Cooney died at second and Burroughs did the same
A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game
A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest
With that hope that springs eternal within the human breast
For they thought if only Casey could get a whack at that
They'd put even money now with Casey at the bat
But Flynn preceded Casey and likewise so did Blake
And the former was a puddin' and the latter was a fake
So on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence sat
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat
But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all
And the much-despised Blake tore the cover off the ball
And when the dust had lifted and they saw what had occurred
There was Blake safe at second and Flynn a-huggin' third
Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell
It rumbled in the mountain tops, it rattled in the dell
It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat
There was an ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face
And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt
Then when the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip
Defiance glanced in Casey's eye and a sneer curled Casey's lips
And now the leopard-covered sphere came hurtling through the air
And Casey stood a-watching it in a haughty grandeur there
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball on he did sped
"That ain't my style," said Casey, "Strike one," the umpire said
From the benches black with people there went up a muffled roar
Like the beating of a storm wave on the stern and distant shore
"Kill him, kill the umpire," shouted someone on the stand
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone
He stilled the rising tumult and he made the game go on
He signaled to the pitcher and once more the spheroid flew
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two"
"Fraud," cried the maddened thousands and the echo answered, "Fraud"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was all
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let the ball go by again
The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are clenched in hate
He pounds with cruel vengeance his bat upon the plate
And now the pitcher holds the ball and now he lets it go
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow
Somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright
The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout
But there is no joy in Mudville, mighty Casey has struck out