God work your magic through my hands;
I'll heal the souls of the dedicated.
When they break like rusted baskeball nets,
I remind them why they entered the game.
Remember when you dad got you your first ball?
You got beat down, bruised up, fell down, got up;
It was nothing at all.
You made it here.
You made them proud.
Now you see your father in the crowd.
When the cameras and media are all in your face,
When the sport annoncers are on your case:
They know nothing of the pain.
Hidden from the eyes of the world, behind closed doors,
You're fighting to stay.
I'll be you're guiding hand,
Your will when weak,
You'll show me the miracle of the blood, sweat, and tears,
The years- you put into one game.
Teach me and I'll teach you.
Together we'll make it though
Until you back making three- pointers
And you got a net back on your hoop.