Tono: C
Introducción:
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This town ain't big This town ain't small It's a little of both they say
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Our ball club may be minor-league But at least it's triple A
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We sit be-low the Marlboro man Above the right-field wall
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We do the wave all by ourselves "Hey Ump, a blind man coulda made that call!"
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We like our beer as flat as can be We like our dogs with mustard and re-lish
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We've got a great pitcher, what's his name Well, we can't even spell it
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We don't worry about the pennants much We just like to see the boys hit it deep
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There's nothing like the view from the cheap seats
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That local band is back in town They've got a kind of minor-league sound
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They're not that bad They're not that good But all in all, it's under-stood
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We want to dance, they want to play We wouldn't have it any other way
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Now the majors call up old what's his name And one more building rises tall
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And suddenly we're all grown up And this old town's not quite so small
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But I'll always miss the middle-size towns In the middle of the middle West
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With no name pitchers and local bands And mustard and relish and all the rest