Babe Ruth was the Sultan of Swat.
He hit home runs a lot.
He’d take the baseball for a ride
And round the diamond with a jerky stride.
A tiny, comic trot.
Babe Ruth was the Kaiser of Clout.
He knew how to hit ‘em out.
His full name was George Herman Ruth.
His number was three, and that’s the truth.
There isn’t any doubt.
Babe Ruth was the Marquis of Might.
His shots were out of sight.
One year he blasted sixty such.
It’s nothing if you’ve got the touch
Of supersonic flight.
Babe Ruth was the Baron of Blast.
His swing started back in the past.
It rolled through the present with a mighty crack,
And shot toward the future and it didn’t look back.
Even Gehrig was outclassed.
Babe Ruth was the Sovereign of Swing.
There’s no sense arguing.
He wore a pinstriped uniform
With a waistband larger than the norm.
He was a one-man summer thunderstorm!
I think that’s everything.
Wait! Babe Ruth was the Badboy of Boom!
He was the ruling Vizier of Vava and Voom!
He was the Prophet of every pitcher’s Doom!
He was the Poster Boy of Breathing Room!
And the Architect of ZOOM!
He was the True Conjugator of Going, Gone!
The Mad Inventor of the Bronxian Bomb!
He was the Grand Archduke of Outta Here!
And the Lord High Mayor of Wait til This Year!
Have I made myself quite clear??!!
So HAIL to the Sultan of Swat!
to the Master Blasting Monster Tot!
To the Longball-hitting Lancelot!
To the Pinstriped Prince of the Lunar Shot!
And the Reigning Rajah of the Clean-up Spot!
Babe Ruth . . . is the SULTAN . . . OF SWAT!!!