My brother, Sean, Had a pitcher's arm, His catcher said It was his only charm. He could aim With radar sight, Used speed and curves To get three strikes.
One summer day I stole his bike, He spied me, Eyed me in his sights. His first pitch, Like a guided missle Whistled past my head; Aimed for my jawbone, Missed the strike zone, I headed straight for home.
His second pitch, A screaming fast ball, Barely missed my pate, I felt that I was safe.
His friends made fun With a Ball two call, Sean took aim With his dropball; He wound up Then released. He threw high, And I cried: Bring in the Relief. His pitch lived up to its name, It dropped, I felt the batter's pain; Sean had worked his charm again. I wasn't talking, I wasn't walking, They called me Out On the neighbour's lawn.