Lyrics:Your Mother is a Basketball
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JH: Your mother's so fat they didn't call Ghostbusters Stay Puft Man was all, "I don't trust her." In other words, she ate him. Stay Puft Man's big, so that's how we know she's fat-- Just to clarify. MG: Basketball, a basketball. Yeah, well, your mother is a basketball. I went there: your mother is a basketball. A basketball, she's a basketball. AR: Stop. Everybody take 5. Good show, guys, but I don't feel a vibe. Let it all out; don't hold back; incriminate. Here on this court, you gotta push it to the limit, mate. Reach deep inside, throw the shots, come alive. I'll be here tweeting the whole thing live, So guys, be loquacious; show off your gall! What did you say his mother was again? (A basketball.) MG: A basketball. After all, she's bouncing like she had a bottle of Adderall. She's also fat--not sure if I mentioned that-- Twenty-nine inches wide from all sides, to be exact. JH: Man, that's wack. I object! But, to change the subject, I double dribbl'd your Mom's bombs and she liked it. Now I'm flying higher than a window wiper, Where you're airing free throws like a drunken sniper. MG: I believe you need a reason like you're Zeppelin Piper. If your mom were on Tinder, I'd swipe her right 'cuz I like her She's spherical, meaningful, queer, and clerical, A leather planet with the gravity that makes you feel the pull AR: Ooh, feeling it now, moves smooth, so adroit. World's hearing it now, down under to Detroit. Pity the pal who fails to score a swish, Never gonna hit the buzzer 'cuz she just won't fit! Not that curvy's bad boys, in fact, it's sad But the women's NBA's not all round and rad. Don't be lose ground, be a man; Do they fit basketballs with gastric bands? JH: Oedipus Rex, Electra complex, Pegasus wings on these foot springs but I digress. Surf's up! I board a tidal wave of jump Yo' 'boks probably don't even pump, chump. MG: Sup? JH: I got pump up 'boks, I'll palm my ball in my hand. And shoot infinity points from up across this land So you can't pass the man if you know what's best, son. lest you wanna become a tripping guessing lesson. SK: Slam dunk! JH: Foul? MG & JH: Ref, make the call! AR: Oh gee, oh gosh, this is all too much Guys, I gotta confide--I'm just an actress, y'all Picked last at the dang-blasted casting call. MG: Some games don't have winners Some chickens don't end up on plates for dinners, They contain the innards But we know the sun will always rise and always fall And that your mother will always be a basketball Basketball, a basketball. If you're listening, your mother is a basketball. That's right, you! Your mother is a basketball. She's a basketball, bouncing faster all, Over the rainbow in the stair, Somehow, somewhere, someway, somewhere.