| I used to sit with my dad in the garage
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| That sawdust, that Pinesol, and the moss
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| Around every spring, when the winter thawed
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| We’d huddle around the radio, twist the broken knob
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| 710 AM, no KJR. |
| Dave Niehaus' voice would echo throughout the yard
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| Couldn’t have been older than 10
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| But to me and my friends
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| The voice on the other end might as well have been God’s
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| 1995, the Division Series
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| Edgar’s up to bat
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| Bottom of the 11th inning
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| Got the whole town listening
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| «Swung on and belted,"the words distorted. «Joey Cora rounds third!
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| Here comes Griffey! |
| The throw to the plate’s not in time!
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| My, oh my, the Mariners win it!»
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| Yes. |
| Fireworks, they lit up that ceiling in the King dome
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| We had just made history
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| «And swung on and lined down the left field line for a base hit!
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| Here comes Joey! |
| Here comes Junior to third base!
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| They’re gonna wave him in! |
| The throw to the plate will be…
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| Late! |
| The Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship!
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| I don’t believe it! |
| It just continues! |
| My, oh my!»
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| Laces woven, barely holdin' that stitch
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| The creases of time amongst the grime and the grit
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| Where the leather he used to pound his fists
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| To some it’s just a mitt, but see that glove was him
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| Yep, tell me stories on the field, with that sun-stained brim
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| Blood under my chin, he taught me how to spit
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| Sunflower seeds back with me and my crew
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| Sunburnt arms
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| Big League Chew
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| Yeah we were like, The Sandlot after dinner
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| After practice we’d listen
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| To the M’s in the kitchen
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| And if mom wasn’t trippin'
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| «Come on dad! |
| Please, I swear, just one more inning!»
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| Voice went «pump, pump!"through the system
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| «Break out the rye bread! |
| It’s grand salami time!»
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| «My, oh my! |
| Another victory!"Yes. My city, my city
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| Childhood, my life watchin' Griffey right under those lights
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| Under that light rain, gleaming in that night game, can’t stop now
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| Keep moving, no brake pads!
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| Came here to prove a point, live my life on the field
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| Make history in between the base paths
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| And compete against the fear that is in me that’s my only barrier and I swear
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| that I’mma break that!
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| From the mud
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| The cleats that we drug
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| Through the feet
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| This is that moment, and you can’t take it back
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| I don’t really collect cards anymore, just a box and some old cardboard
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| Memories embedded in the dust, in the fibres that age just like us
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| Livin' somewhere off in the drawer
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| This is what you make of it. |
| Yeah, we play to win
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| Live it like we’re under the lights of the stadium
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| Fight until the day that God decides to wave us in
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| Right, until he waves us in
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| It’s my city, my city, childhood, my life. |
| That’s right
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| Under those lights
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| My city, my city, childhood, that’s right. |
| Niehaus, «My, oh my!»
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| Come on. |
| My city, my city, childhood, my life. |
| That’s right, under those lights
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| It’s my city, my city, childhood, my life, Niehaus. |
| My, oh my. |
| Rest in peace |