Bowling Song
You watch me on your tv.
Say that my job is easy.
Say I am not athletic.
You think my sport's pathetic.
But you can't judge me 'till you walked a mile in my bowling shoes.
So I don't get all the ladies.
Got a mullet from the 80's
I am known throughout the valleys.
As the prophet of alleys.
And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I am mighty Malachi, the bowling god.
The smell of rosin gets my high.
Kiss those f---in' pins goodbye!
I am mighty Malachi, the bowling... bowling... God.
Got a ball that's smooth and all black.
I keep it in my favorite ball sack.
I get a feeling in my soul.
As I finger every hole.
And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I am mighty Malachi, the bowling god.
The smell of rosin gets my high.
Kiss those motherf---in' pins goodbye!
I am mighty Malachi, the bowling... bowling...
Not a single men will try, to beat almighty Malachi.
All that challenge me are slain.
Come on, f---ers pick a lane.
Marshall Holman and Gary Dickens, get in line for your ass kickins'.
John Petraglia, Norm Duke, your so lame it makes me puke.
Who among the pro-bowl sector.
There's to don his wrist protector.
Not that pussy Nelson Burton, tells me that his wrist is hurtin'.
Hey Mark Roth, hey Earl the Pearl, are ya' scared to give the ball a hurl?
How bout' Dickey Webber and his son Pete? I'll turn the motha fuckas to cream of wheat!
And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I am mighty Malachi, the bowling god.
The smell of rising gets my high.
Kiss those f---in' pins goodbye!
I am mighty Malachi, the bowling... bowling god
The bowling god!!