| You watch me on your TV.
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| Say that my job is easy.
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| Say I am not athletic.
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| You think my sport’s pathetic.
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| But you can’t judge me 'till you’ve walked a mile in my bowling shoes.
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| So I don’t get all the ladies.
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| Got a mullet from the 80's
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| I am known throughout the valleys.
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| As the prophet of alleys.
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| And as I roll the ball I cry, «Let me bowl or let me die!»
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| I’m almighty Malakai, the bowling god.
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| The smell of rosin gets my high.
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| Kiss those fuckin' pins goodbye!
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| I’m almighty Malakai, the bowling… the bowling… god.
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| Got a ball that’s smooth and all black.
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| I keep it in my favorite ball-sac.
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| I get a feeling in my soul.
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| As I finger every hole.
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| And as I roll the ball I cry, «Let me bowl or let me die!»
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| I’m almighty Malakai, the bowling god.
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| The smell of rosin gets my high.
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| Kiss those motherfuckin' pins goodbye!
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| I’m almighty Malakai, the bowling… the bowling…
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| Not a single men will try, to beat almighty Malakai.
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| All that challenge me are slain.
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| Come on, fuckers pick a lane.
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| Marshall Home and Gary Dickens, get in line for your ass kickins'.
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| John Patracky and Norton Duke, you’re so lame it makes me puke.
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| Who amongst the pro-bowl sector.
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| Dares to don his wrist protector.
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| Not that pussy Nelson Burton, tells me that his wrist is hurtin'.
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| Hey Mark Walfey, Earl the Pearl, are ya' scared to give the ball a hurl?
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| How bout' Dickey Webber and his son Pete? |
| I’ll turn the motha fuckas to cream
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| of wheat!
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| And as I roll the ball I cry, «Let me bowl or let me die!»
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| I’m almighty Malakai, the bowling god.
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| The smell of rosin gets my high.
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| Kiss those fuckin' pins goodbye!
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| I’m almighty Malakai, the bowling… bowlin… ohhhhh!
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| The bowling god! |