There is a beast that roams my town.
During all our gossip and hometown games,
there is a man in the bleachers unwilling to grow old.
He sneers at the cheerleaders for their provocative innocence.
He disgraces the point guard when he misses the easy shot.
He hates the fans who paint letters on their shirts.
He disagrees with the referee's call.
He considers yelling at the top of his lungs
and telling the world to go to hell.
Because with all the hype, he still loses his wife
to old age.
However, to know his soul,
you must be white and play ball.
Abrubtly, a cheerleader shoots a three pointer.
She fails to see the old man (on the bleachers) who hates the world.
Her flirty stare grows as the crowd cheers.
It will kill his wisdom,
remind him of a wife lost.
During all our gossip and hometown games,
there is a man in the bleachers unwilling to grow old.
He sneers at the cheerleaders for their provocative innocence.
He disgraces the point guard when he misses the easy shot.
He hates the fans who paint letters on their shirts.
He disagrees with the referee's call.
He considers yelling at the top of his lungs
and telling the world to go to hell.
Because with all the hype, he still loses his wife
to old age.
However, to know his soul,
you must be white and play ball.
Abrubtly, a cheerleader shoots a three pointer.
She fails to see the old man (on the bleachers) who hates the world.
Her flirty stare grows as the crowd cheers.
It will kill his wisdom,
remind him of a wife lost.
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