Bowling Song (Almighty Malachi, Professional Bowling God)

You watch me on your TV
Say that my job is easy
Say I am not athletic
You think my sport's pathetic

But you can't judge me 'till you've walked a mile in my bowling shoes

So I don't get all the ladies
Got a mullet from the 80's
I am known throughout the valleys
As the prophet of alleys

And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I'm almighty Malakai, the bowling god
The smell of rosin gets my high
Kiss those fuckin' pins goodbye!
I'm almighty Malakai, the bowling... the bowling... god

Got a ball that's smooth and all black
I keep it in my favorite ball-sac
I get a feeling in my soul
As I finger every hole

And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I'm almighty Malakai, the bowling god
The smell of rosin gets my high
Kiss those motherfuckin' pins goodbye!
I'm almighty Malakai, the bowling... the bowling...

Not a single men will try, to beat almighty Malakai
All who challenge me are slain
Come on, fuckers pick a lane
Marshall Holman, Gary Dickins(on), get in line for your ass kickins'
John Petraglia and Norman Duke, you're so lame it makes me puke
Who amongst the pro-bowl sector
Dares to don his wrist protector
Not that pussy Nelson Burton, tells me that his wrist is hurtin'
Hey Mike Aulby, Earl the Pearl, are ya' scared to give the ball a hurl?
How bout' Dickey Webber and his son Pete? I'll turn the motha fuckas to cream of wheat!

And as I roll the ball I cry, "Let me bowl or let me die!"
I'm almighty Malakai, the bowling god
The smell of rosin gets my high
Kiss those fuckin' pins goodbye!
I'm almighty Malakai, the bowling... bowlin... ohhhhh!
The bowling god!!