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In His Own Tongue ( I Wish It Was Baseball)
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A fantasy of the tensions between Israelis and Palestinians as baseball.
good without one politica
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liberal ranting and raving, but sensitive explorations of the current American malaise
Good Without One was a drummerless and mercifully leaderless rock trio performing off the track and often humorous, often political originals and originally arranged covers. The players are George Potor, guitar and vocals, Joe DeCristopher, guitar and vocals, and Rick Totten, bass and vocals. These folks have played together in different contexts for decades, but only as this particular trio from 2003 - 2008. While the level of musicianship is high, their disdain for the trappings of rock stardom is legendary. Two of the members even remained seated throughout performances, despite no obvious physical impairments. Their drummerless approach was a novel but occasionally successful scam to get electric instruments into acoustic venues.
Song Info
Charts
Peak #22
Peak in subgenre #2
Author
George Potor
Rights
George Potor 2002
Uploaded
June 05, 2003
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.9 MB 128 kbps 0:00
Story behind the song
I was impressed by President Bush's command of both the English language and baseball.
Lyrics
VERSE 1: Bush keeps telling Afafat to “speak in his own tongue;” In America we like that no matter where you’re from. When Arafat speaks English, Dubya’s got no clue, But if Yasser spoke in Arabic, he could be no more confused. So I wish that it was baseball and the season still was young; Bush still telling Afafat to “speak in his own tongue.” CHORUS: Everybody’s rootin for the Home Team Both the Arabs and the Jews are on the Home Team Bases loaded, count is full Ya could call this moment critical Everybody’s shootin.. VERSE 2: No Arabs in the Bull Pen; pitchers all been shelled. A long-ball hitter is waiting in the well Jews are up to bat; they had the Seventh Inning Stretch. Bottom of the order; they’ll be swinging for the fence. Ariel checks himself; grabs his crotch a bit Yasser gets the sign; he’s spitting in his mitt CHORUS VERSE 3: Runners First and Third, the bottom of the Eighth Bring the infield in, send Yasser to the plate. Players on the bench are screaming “let ‘em swing away.” “This is our year,” the fans in Gaza say. Can’t believe Sharon can still be throwing for the knees; Bet the Dugout’s calling for that suicide squeeze. CHORUS CODA: When the Arabs play the Jews They always play to win. They usually lose, But they can always play again.
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