| Your Mother is a Basketball | |
| Written by | Joe Hawley |
|---|---|
| Appears on | Joe Hawley Joe Hawley |
| Sung by | Hawley, Michael Gregory, Stephanie Koenig, Allegra Rosenberg |
| Genre | Rock |
| Language | English |
Your Mother is a Basketball is a song by Joe Hawley.
Song Meanings
Your Mother is a Basketball is about your mother and her similarity to a spherical sports-related object.
Trivia
Lyrics
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'm'a lead you to reason like the 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 smoove, 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, bouncy basketball, Over the rainbow in despair, Somehow, somewhen, someway, somewhere.