Lyrics Atlanta's own The Taxpayers

Atlanta's own

“Turner on the mound, 120 pitches in: right now it's 2 to 1 for
Georgia Tech with runners in between. 1,000 in the bleachers
and 1,000 on the side; right from the stretch...”
“Here comes the pitch!”
“Looks like a hit!”
“Go hit the lights!”
“Go get the phone!”
“Go tell the press!”
“And baby, kiss that ball goodbye!”
“Now, I've called Turner the left-handed NCAA Cy Young before,
Atlanta's own, but this is just absurd: A change-up on the 3 and
2, two-hitter on the line, deep in the 9th, with a runner
hugging third.”
“Weltzer in left field quickly closing on the wall; somehow
squinting through the blinding light, he snags it on the fall!”
“That's the game!”
“But all attention turns now to the pitcher's mound, Turner's
clutching his left shoulder and he's writhing on the mound.”
“Looks like he's hurt!”
“Alert the press!”
“Go get the phone!”
“Go hit the lights!”
“God, what a game!”
“But what a shame!'“What a way to end the night.”
“Georgia Tech must be upset, they can't be happy with this win.
They've got a play-off spot secured, but not a starter that can pitch.”
“Now, I've called Turner the left-handed NCAA Cy Young before,
Atlanta's own, but this is just absurd: A change-up on the 3 and
2, two-hitter on the line, deep in the 9th, with a runner
hugging third. No word yet from the trainer. I can't bear to
see the savior of the Yellow Jackets carried off the field.
That could have been enough to tear his left rotator cuff - I
can't imagine if or when that will heal.”
“A moment away from a perfect game, but hey: some records were
never meant to be broken. Right?”
“A shaky close to a shaky win, shackled by a crippled team.
Improvement? Retention? LEft on the defensive. When everybody
leaves so completely resigned, it's apparent that a dream that
once was shared must have died.”