Sure! You're off Your Base Again Pat McCann

Sure! You're off Your Base Again Pat McCann

V1
I’m a modern Apollo, a big Irishman,
You should see me when playing base bal
You can hear it for miles as they shout “there’s McCann,”
When I step to the base for a fall
Then I brace up and look at the man in the box,
As I make a big swipe at the hall
But the catcher’s big hands, they close over the sphere,
While the crowd at me all of them call
“Sure you’re off yure base again Pat McCann
Sure you’re off yure base, you big Irishman”
As they shout this in m yface
When I go to take my place
While round me all the men begin to jam
“You’re the special pride and pet, Pat McCann
Of the fairest of the fair, Marry Ann”
Then I hit the ball a swat,
As they say “get onto that,
Done by no one else but big Pat McCann”
V2
Michael Casey and I, on a big jamboree,
Got filled up as an Irish man should,
And together we went into town for to see
R. DeKoven’s great show, Robin Hood
When the Friar came out with his mug in his hand,
To the shereiff said, “have one with me.”
We both up with a shout, sure’s my name is McCann,
“Make it two mugs instead” botheried we
“Sure you’re off yure base you big Irishman,”
I could hear them shout at me, “Pat McCann,”
Then the ushers used a place
Somewhere down around our base,
You could hear the ruction in amongs the jam.
Then a peeler took us in to the jail.
There we all the night our fate did bewail
Sure my name is Pat McCann,
I’m an Irish gintleman,
I paid twenty dollars cash out for bail
V3
As a masher on Broadway one foine afternoon,
I heard whispers of “There goes McCann”
“Sure” I says to myself “give me plenty of room,
For indade I’m an ilegant Man”
As there came down the street dressed so dainty and neat,
It was beautiful Molly O’Gowan
I was making my bow to this lady foine,
When I slipped on a peel and sat down
“Sure you’re off yure base again, Pat McCann
Sure you’re off yure base you big Irishman
You can go and chase yure face
For you’re surely off yure base,
To address the loike’s of me you Irish man”
Then she hit me on the head very hard
Till my poor old head indead it did smart
Then I made straightway for home
looking sad and quite forlorn,
Saying this would be my last mashing lark

Theo H. Northrup

1893