I say my prayers every morning just like orange juice.
I crack the crinkles out my body till I'm feeling loose.
I strap my sneakers on my feet like they was combat boots.
They fit my feet like Cinderella when I'm shooting hoops.
[...]
Seven's a very lucky number for me.
That was the age when I discovered how good balling could be.
Up every morning with the birdies doing little drills.
Go to my left, go to my right, developing mad skills.
How could a love for this game bring so much sadness?
I played with brothas with so much badness.
But now they gone, I sing a song,
pop a three from the top of the key in they memory.
Refrain:
Why, oh why, do memories be chasing me?
Sometimes it makes me wanna grab my shit and flee.
Even in seasons when it's another color sport,
I still be memorizing lines out on the basketball court, singing
Why, oh why, do memories be chasing me?
Sometimes it makes me wanna grab my shit and flee.
Even in seasons when it's another color sport,
I be remembering my partners on the basketball court.
[...]
Knock ya on your heels
and do circles like he was Curly Neal.
[...]
Rob, oh Rob, his whole life was like a roller coaster,
but on the court he looked like a Dr. J poster.
Flying high with an Afro blowing in the wind,
wiping Windex, index finger rolls off the glass.
Then swish through the net.
Jump a Corvette with a triple pirouette.