Lyrics from Flying Cloud, by M. C. Dean [Dean Michael Cassius] (Virginia, MN: The Quickprint, ), page 59:

(Note that there are 2 more verses than the version above, plus numerous small differences in wording.)


THE DAY THAT I PLAYED BASEBALL

Oh, me name it is O’Houlihan; I’m a man that’s influential.
I mind my business, stay at home; me wants are few and small.
But the other day a gang did come; they were filled with whiskey, gin, and rum,
And they took me out in the broiling sun to play a game of ball.

They made me carry all the bats; I thought they’d set me crazy.
They put me out in the center field; sure, I paralyzed them all.
When I put up me hands to stop a fly, holy murther, it struck me in the eye,
And they laid me out by the fence to die on the day that I played baseball.

There was O’Shaughnessy of the second nine; he was throwing them underhanded.
He put a twirl upon them and I couldn’t strike them at all.
The umpire he called strikes on me; “What’s that?” says I; “You’re out,” says he.
Bad luck to you, O’Shaughnessy, and the way that you twirled the ball.

Then I went to bat and I knocked the ball, I thought, to San Francisco.
Around the bases three times three, by heavens, I run them all,
When the gang set up a terrible howl, saying, “O’Houlihan, you struck a foul,”
And they rubbed me down with a Turkish towel on the day that I played baseball.

The catcher swore by the Jack of Trumps that he saw me stealing bases,
And fired me into a keg of beer; I loud for help did call.
I got roaring, staving, stone-blind drunk; I fell in the gutter; I lost my spunk.
I had a head on me like an elephant’s trunk on the day that I played baseball.

The reporters begged to know my name and presented me with a medal.
They asked me for my photograph to hang upon the wall,
Saying, “O’Houlihan, you won the game,” though me head was sore and my shoulder lame,
And they sent me home on a cattle train the day that I played baseball.


The Minnesota Heritage Songbook website has a playable recording by Brian Miller.