Pickle Ball

Pickleball – Part One It’s eight o’clock, about any day And it’s pickleball that I’ve come to play I brought my paddle and I brought my drink I’ll work on my drops and perfect my dinks But sometimes my body just doesn’t obey I tell my feet move but they tell me “stay” When I need to bend over and I tell my back It seems that bend over is a talent I lack I’ll play any game, against any foe And there one thing my partner should know A ‘power’ game is just fine by me So wish me good luck and sweet victory Part Two It’s yellow and plastic, and really acts spastic Whenever the wind starts to gust I line up a shot, it looks in then it’s not In pickleball winds you can’t trust So I serve and I volley, drop dinks and by golly The points really start to add up If I play the game so, then the wind it can blow Those low shots it just can’t disrupt I call out the score when I serve or before First my point, then their points, one or two No cussing, no in’, stay out of the kitchen There’s really not much else to do If they hit, hit it back, in defense or attack Keeping the ball still in play Do this time and again and you’ll earn a fine win On any old kind of a day But when the winds not in play on a hot summer day I dink and I lob, wear them out Hope they make a mistake so the point I can take That’s what pickleball is all about