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lyrics

I hail from San Angelo, in the lone star state
But I spent most of my childhood over in Spain
Started workin’ on the craft from an early age
Soon realized it was so much more than a game

Mother always told you remember lock the backyard gate
And if they’re swinging too early next time they’re gonna’ be late
But you're just to blame
Because the Mad Dog’s on the loose and it looks like he’s on his game

By ’94 I had more Cys than Raphael
Paintin’ corners while all them records fell
Hawks and Falcons weren’t much what I liked to be
but 28 mil found a lot of Brave in me

You’re counting on the 93-fastball blazing through
But then bam the change-up at 82

Groundin', poppin', swingin', lookin', you’ll find it’s all the same
It’s like a sniper from sixty-five feet taking aim
But you’re not to blame
You’re just the hitter in the picture on his plaque in the Hall of Fame

You can use deception to try and keep a man at bay
But there’s something to be said for telling him what’s coming his way
And gettin’ the grounder to second and the out all the same

credits

from Lesser Tragedies, released April 29, 2013

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A Metropolitan Guide Peoria, Illinois

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