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'm 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'm almighty Malachi, the bowling god.
The smell of rosin gets me high.
Kiss those f---in' pins goodbye!
I'm almighty Malachi, the bowling... the bowling... god.

(Thank you comin' out tonight! Alright, one more verse)

Got a ball that's smooth and all black.
I keep it in my lucky ball-sac. (yeah)
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'm almighty Malachi, the bowling god.
The smell of rosin gets me high.
Kiss those motherf---in' pins goodbye!
I'm almighty Malachi, the bowling... the bowling...

Not a single man will try, to beat almighty Malakai.
All that challenge me are slain.
Come on, f---ers pick a lane.
Marshall Holden Gary Dickens, get in line for your ass kickins'.
John Patrack the unknown Duke, your so lame it makes me puke.
Oh I'm on 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 Walfey, Earl the Pearl, are ya' scared to give the ball a hurl?
How bout' Nickey 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'm almighty Malachi, the bowling god.
The smell of rosin gets me high.
Kiss those f---in' pins goodbye!
I'm almighty Malachi, the bowling... bowlin... ohhhhh!
The bowling god!!