Casey at the Bat

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day

The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play

And then when Cooney died at first and Barrows did the same

A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair

The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast

They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that

We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake

And the former was a no-good, while the latter was a fake

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat

For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat

But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all

And Blake, the match despised, tore the cover off the ball

And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred

There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third

Casey

Sha na na na

Oh Casey

Sha na na na

Casey

Sha na na na

Mighty Casey

Sha na na na

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell

It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell

It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat

For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place

There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face

And when responding to 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 while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip

Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there

Close by sturdy batsmen the ball unheeded sped

"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said