He won’t run or dive or even jump.
On the ground he spills his paint.
He’s exactly like that Forrest Gump,
the Terminator, he ain’t.
He’s a total waste of skin,
'caused his knees, they haven’t healed.
I know that we will never win,
and he’ll get lost in an open field.
He gets 'taken out’ every game,
he’s never seen a flag.
Losing is his claim to fame,
Every game’s a total drag.
Yet he comes out every time we play,
you’ll never see him crying.
No matter how bad his day,
I know he’ll not stop trying.
To watch him, it’s a sin.
If I was that bad I swear,
long ago I’d have packed it in,
and gone and sold my gear.
I’m happy when he comes to play,
and now I’ll tell you why:
He tries his best most every day.
So he’s a better man than I.
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