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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

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