WUT IT DO?
MY OTHER BLOGS YEH!
workingforthestate
sportswriting

but really. lolllzzz

new mix of an old jam

Usually, when we listen to songs on YouTube, we’ll spend the time on another page. For this song, please mute the audio and simply feel Xena’s song in your heart.

YELAWOLF GIVES OUTKAST A SWEET HIGH FIVE!

http://radiokillarecords.com/1977_lyrics/usedtobe.html

http://radiokillarecords.com/1977_lyrics/usedtobe.html

indiernb:

Terius Nash - 1977

indiernb:

Terius Nash - 1977

sportswriting:

I ain’t the first who thought
baseball was golf:
tryin’ for the
the lowest score;
Hawk glovin’ up
his hittin’ hand.
They said I should try to hit
balls. So that’s what I do.
I try to hit balls.
Inside. Outside. Dirt
Top can’t hold me, see,
I weigh more than average,
more than my average.
In Cinci they called me
Kool-Aid, but I been Hubba Bubba 
before the Nationals housing market
bubble burst.
Now it’s Big Donkey,
like burrito’s bizarre.
Kanakorn! Kanakorn! 
for Pauly I guess, not one Dunn! 
Don’t refry The Bean, Ozzie,
because I don’t fuck
with runs. Let me
be forward: This year,
there’s been a lack
of ball on bat crack.
I’m taking the 2011
season like a buckshot—
I’ll bleed out; tenderize,
cash out. And when I do,
they’ll hire a line-driver,
for this leaky dump truck
is no good with the clutch;
I TRY TO HIT BALLS!
but all I hear is whiff,
that wood-wind whisper:
 “It’s not for superstition
I don’t step on the line,
It’s for fear of snapping it,
for fear of the fine.”

sportswriting:

I ain’t the first who thought

baseball was golf:

tryin’ for the

the lowest score;

Hawk glovin’ up

his hittin’ hand.

They said I should try to hit

balls. So that’s what I do.

I try to hit balls.

Inside. Outside. Dirt

Top can’t hold me, see,

I weigh more than average,

more than my average.

In Cinci they called me

Kool-Aid, but I been Hubba Bubba 

before the Nationals housing market

bubble burst.

Now it’s Big Donkey,

like burrito’s bizarre.

Kanakorn! Kanakorn!

for Pauly I guess, not one Dunn!

Don’t refry The Bean, Ozzie,

because I don’t fuck

with runs. Let me

be forward: This year,

there’s been a lack

of ball on bat crack.

I’m taking the 2011

season like a buckshot—

I’ll bleed out; tenderize,

cash out. And when I do,

they’ll hire a line-driver,

for this leaky dump truck

is no good with the clutch;

I TRY TO HIT BALLS!

but all I hear is whiff,

that wood-wind whisper:

 “It’s not for superstition

I don’t step on the line,

It’s for fear of snapping it,

for fear of the fine.”

(via sportswriting-deactivated201302)

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