Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
Tonight in Carolina, the bleachers are empty and quiet Not a ball’s been hit my way all night I hit a grounder up the middle, but the shortstop made the play I’ll never make it to the big leagues this way But the smell of fresh cut grass and peanut shells fill the southern sky And we’ll be heading back to Birmingham tonight CHORUS; These towns roll by like tumbleweeds Through the windows of these late-night trains To those of us down here, it’s still a game I may never be a hero, and you’ll never know my name But if I broke the record, I would do it clean Last week out in Greenville, about an hour before the game A boy was watching warm-ups, with a big smile on his face He put down his popcorn, held out a ball and pen He looked a little awestruck, as I signed it for him I didn’t ask for money, I just smiled and shook his hand You should’ve seen the spring in his step, as he ran to show his dad ' REPEAT CHORUS America’s favorite pastime, it’s simple and it’s pure We all still watch the big leagues, but now we’re not so sure But if you can catch a game in Birmingham, on a perfect summer day I’ll run out every grounder, that’s how I learned to play It’s not glamorous in double A, it’s not for everyone But baseball’s what I do, who I am and what I love REPEAT CHORUS |