Wins and nightmares

Letra

[INTRO — DARK PIANO] Yeah… Draft day was dreams. Then Sunday brought the nightmares. Xtr-Ordinary. Let’s go. [VERSE 1 — SLOW, CONTROLLED] Doctor G came back with the crown sitting proud, One-seventy-two, had the champ talking loud. Marvin gave him four, G cut him without warning, District office restructuring first thing Tuesday morning. V-Dog dropped one-thirty-seven and still got cooked, First meat he’s touched in years, Doctor G had him shook. Steve dropped one-sixty-six, left thirty-two on the bench, Ted Lasso on the sideline like, “Believe in the depth.” Tiffany asked for Moore, Darnold gave her less, Admin called the 12th Man, “Report to my office, this is a mess.” Stafford gave Big Daddy four, Bijan came with the meds, Nurse looked at that lineup, “Get this motherfucker a bed.” Turtle had Pitts with zero, defense minus four, Chris was herding turtles all across that scoreboard. Allen came strapped, thirty-five on the call, Semper yelled OORAH, whole damn roster yelled AWOL. Principal had a game plan, Walker came ready, McLaurin gave him three— BACK UP, BACK UP, TERRY! PUT IT IN REVERSE! Mike took down the Commish, now he feeling like a threat, One week into the season — boy, don’t peak yet. Gibbs dropped thirty-three, had the Commish feeling nice, Bo Nix gave me five — should’ve known that shit had a price. [BUILD — DRUMS RISING] Kaelon Black hit waivers, G threw ten on the name, Tony came with five, couldn’t get in the game. Sneaky switched lanes, no time for rejection, Works maintenance — started ordering replacements. Vele, Gesicki, Tony loading the rack, Turtle threw a dollar— Chris, you ain’t getting shit with that. Mr. U pouring shots, coffee running on tap, Cup full of caffeine, roster still decaf. [DRUMS CUT] Week One finished. Week Two— [BEAT SWITCH — HARD] SEMPER! FORTY-ONE, KICKED DOWN THE DOOR! STUDENT TEACHER ON A PRINCIPAL — OORAH! Now we live, everybody got a strategy till Sunday disagrees, Projections got you favored, then your flex gives you three. FAAB getting tossed at a third-string RB, Then the dude you dropped goes off— THAT’S FANTASY. Trade hit the phone, I know that ain’t serious, Two bench wideouts for my starter? You delirious. Add another throw-in like the offer getting sweeter, Stacking up your trash don’t turn it to a keeper. [FLOW PICKS UP] This that stare-at-the-app while you’re out getting food, Family trying to talk, you refreshing for news. Questionable all morning, now you’re checking every tweet, Wife said, “Did you hear me?” — “Yeah…” ain’t heard a thing. Sunday night lead getting smaller every drive, Up thirty at dinner, now you barely up five. One player Monday, doing math after every pass, Need twelve-point-three— He catches one. That’s your ass. Nine years deep and we still talking trash, Degrees on the wall, still refreshing that app. Grown adults with careers, but when Sunday gets tight, Whole family’s lost us till the end of Monday night. [FLOW ACCELERATES] Principals scheming, counselors losing their cool, Admin making moves they wouldn’t approve. Nurses need nurses when the injury news drops, Maintenance can’t save you when the depth chart locks. No title, no tenure when you’re chasing that spot, Twelve teams came in— One leaving on top. Sunday morning. RedZone jumping. Phones buzzing. Group chat running. Lineup locked? TOO LATE. Thought you had it? CHECK AGAIN. Thought Sunday was stressful? Wait till Monday night got grown men bargaining with a kicker again. Nine years. Same league. Same trophy. New nightmares. League of Xtr-Ordinary Educators. WEEK TWO. OORAH!