Written by ： Stephen Lynch

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 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 am mighty Malachi the bowling god

The smell of rosin gets my high

Kiss those f**kin' pins goodbye

I am mighty Malachi the bowling bowling God

Got a ball that's smooth and all black

I keep it in my favorite ball sack

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 am mighty Malachi the bowling god

The smell of rosin gets my high

Kiss those motherf**kin' pins goodbye

I am mighty Malachi the bowling bowling

Not a single men will try

To beat almighty Malachi

All that challenge me are slain

Come on f**kers pick a lane

Marshall Holman and Gary Dickens

Get in line for your ass kickins'

John Petraglia Norm Duke

You're so lame it makes me puke

Who among the pro-bowl sector

There's to don his wrist protector

Not that p***y Nelson Burton

Tells me that his wrist is hurtin'

Hey Mark Roth hey Earl the Pearl

Are you scared to give the ball a hurl

How about Dickey Webber and his son Pete

I'll turn the motherf**ker to cream of wheat

And as I roll the ball I cry

"Let me bowl or let me die"

I am mighty Malachi the bowling god

The smell of rising gets my high

Kiss those f**kin' pins goodbye

I am mighty Malachi the bowling bowling god

Yeah yeah

The bowling god