All your bases have been fillednWith pretty players from the fieldnCompared to them, you make me feelnLike an amateurnnI didn’t know love could be playednLike a Holy Rollin’ ball gamenYou keep pushing me awaynWhen I used to be on firstnnYou’re a headache and a heartache-and-a-halfnI don’t know how long my tolerance will lastnAny other would recover from the pastnBut I’m a sore loser, yeahnSore loser, I’m a sore loser at batnnI do believe you rigged the gamenJust to make the Hall of FamenYou bend the rules to fit your playnYou won’t admit you hit a foulnnYou overlook your own shortcomingsnA loser when it comes to lovingnA winner when it comes to runningnThat’s why you’re always striking outnnYou’re a headache and a heartache-and-a-halfnI don’t know how long my tolerance will lastnAny other would recover from the pastnBut I’m a sore loser, yeahnSore loser, I’m a sore loser at batnnI’m done playing the minor leaguesnI’m going to blow this ball parkn‘Cause these cleats were made for walking,nFor walking sorenI ain’t returning, I’m burning my uniformnnYou’re a headache and a heartache-and-a-halfnI don’t know how long my tolerance will lastnAny other would recover from the pastnBut I’m a sore loser, yeahnSore loser, I’m a sore losernSore loser, I’m a sore loser at bat