He lives far away, in the coldest of states
A cute little boy, with a special skilled trait
Plays on the courts, with his 6 year old ball
The boys wont play fair; they say he's too small
He's only a kid, they wont let him play
These are the words, he hears every day
So he sits far away, and watches the boys
dunking old Spalding, he lives for the noise
Not the noise of the boys, but the swish of the net
He knows that someday, that he'll be the threat
It isn't his choice, that his Nikes stay clean
That day will soon come, when Chris is a teen
6 years have gone by, and old Spalding's gone
At night he would play, straight through the dawn
His talent and efforts, grew to a strength
And over the years, he grew a foots length
His appearance is fierce, as he walks to the courts
The guys all look up, as they shake in their shorts
His Nikes are dirty, sweats seeps through his shirt
the guys all don't know, he once was a squirt
They ask him to play, and Chris nods with a yes
As he looks at the player, loser wears dress
First one to ten, says the guy with cornrows
Chris looks and he laughs, says anything goes
They story ends here, I'm sure you can guess
That's hair braided man, sent home in a dress
Cute tiny Chris, from cold corner in Maine
Grows up to play ball, rewarded with fame
