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
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Why oh why do memories keep chasing me
|
sometimes it makes me wanna grab my shit and flee
|
sometimes I wanna blow my brains to put my life at ease
|
but I ain't clocking out I gotta see the seven seas
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please seven's a very lucky number for me
|
that was the age when I discovered how good balling could be
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up every morning with the birdies doing little drills
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go to my left go to my right developing mad skills
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how could a love for this game bring so much sadness
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I played with brothas with so much badness
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but now they gone I sing a song pop a three
|
from the top of the key in they memory
|
|
[Chorus]
|
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
|
|
Do you remember runnin' the court in September
|
me and my homies be down for whoever
|
would come along and try to send us to the showers
|
from the game that we'd been dominating' there for hours
|
all day to be more specific east to west
|
from Atlantic to Pacific fools would come round
|
to get down and try to take our crown
|
but we would hold our ground and we would never back down
|
old timers new timers would get in line there
|
and take a seat there and try to prepare
|
but oh no! there was no chance when we was in the zone
|
we was alone at the top we had hops we got props
|
and when we needed to we busted chops
|
wipe the court with your game like we was using mops
|
what ever happened to the super hoopers in the park
|
I reminisce while shootin' solitary after dark
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
Brother C came fresh from out of town
|
and he had handles and like McDonald's he could clown ya
|
dribbling baby bounces between drinking forty ounces
|
knock ya on your heels and do circles like he was Curly Neal
|
but oh no, the liquor got quicker to his head and he said
|
"I think I musta placed some stupid bets"
|
he hit me up for some cash
|
there was a car crash a splash and then the brother made a mad dash
|
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
|
but off the court he had a few temptations copulations
|
no moderations by 24 he had 3 pregnations
|
last check crack intoxications
|
so many other brothers gone from this dimension
|
and none of those who got hurt receive a pension
|
give a Bup! Bup! to those locked up in detention
|
memories too many dimension
|
and we say, one more time... one more time
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
-----------------
|
Why Oh Why
|
| Michael Franti & Spearhead |
