Bow! Bow! Bowling with Rutabaga
My Uncle Bob bowls the rutabaga way!
Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabagas!
He slips out of the house at the end of each day!

We've learned where he goes, when the first twilight falls
He's knocking plantains down with his twenty-pound balls
It's kooky and weird, our sad family saga,
My uncle Bob bowls for boiled rutabaga!

The pinboy's a chef, with a tall crinkled hat
He cries every time his 'bagas go "Splat!"
Then he sets up some more, what do you think of that?
Bowling with rutabagas is sure where it's at!

Rutabagas are slimy and smelly and round
And they will not stand up, so they can't be knocked down
But they squash into paste when the balls come around
And the boy with a scraper sets up the next round!

Bow! Bow! Bowling with Rutabaga
Uncle Bob bowls the long night away!
Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabaga
And he comes home exhausted at the break of the day!

We've tried to dissuade him, but Bob only snorts
We point out that rutabagas are really too short
But he says that our pleas will not stand up in court,
And the size of the target just doubles the sport!

Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabaga,
Bob bowls for boiled rutabaga at night!
Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabaga,
And when he gets home he's a terrible sight!