Every time I'm on the mound My heart does a flutter. Tuning out the crowd's loud sound. My stomach's churning butter. Focusing, I look around, The players are all set. Catcher's flashing signals out, Don't like his choices yet. One finger stands for fast balls. Two fingers stand for curves. Batter sneers, to fake me out. I've got to steel my nerves. Each ball hurled becomes a strike. Their dugout starts to hiss. Scoreboard charts each perfect pitch. I sure do live for this! Last batter's set and ready. It's a swing and a miss. Got that player out of there. Pitchers dream of doing this! I owned it, I pulled it off. It was a perfect day. I will always hit the mound, In search of Special 'K'!
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