Horatio Hilo was a bird,
He used to romp from first to third
On any kind of single.
He played the sun-field like a master,
You never saw a fielder faster,
And oh, how he could bingle!
Horatio Hilo played out West,
Where man develops to his best,
And Eastern scouts all watched him;
They trailed him through the month of June,
They said, “Him for The Big League soon,”
And finally they cotched him.
Horatio joined a big league team,
Thus gratifying boyhood's dream,
And got the rooters rooting;
He was the captain of the crew
At spearing flies and ground balls, too;
He never thought of booting.
One night when Jack Frost whispered zero,
A man named Fletcher met our hero
And offered him a salary
So large and thick and fat and round
That it would reach from near the ground
Clear to the upper gallery.
Horatio listened, felt the clutch,
And subsequently got in Dutch,
His former chieftain fired him.
The chieftain watched his bowed down head,
And, asked for explanation, said
Horatio tired him.
“All right!” Horatio said, “you betcher
I'll go and get some coin from Fletcher,”
But he was snubbed that morning.
So, baseball players, if you're wise,
And think you'd like to Fletcherize,
Hark to the Gypsy's warning!
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