The game done changed
Time was, that hit was clean
Time was, you’d have won that rep
You play both ways
But you’ve lost a step
Now you’re skipping practice
Veteran rest
On the couch with a sixer
Washed mind, cooked flesh
Now your number’s retired
Your highlights go grainy
Blindsided by headaches
Fumbling names and dates
Now the fans are deserting you
Calling you dirty, you go blue
In the face, spitting rage you can’t shake
Smashing mouths that talk shit
What they say is true
Your brakes’ll be the first thing to quit
Now your little girl sobs on A Football Life
Into your faded jersey
Saying “he used to hurt me”
Been years since you laid hands on the wife
But the hits keep popping from your own two fists
Garbage time stats piling up in meaningless lists
Now they find you blown out on opening day
No one still believes you were molded from concrete
The glory was fake, and you bit on the play
Still waiting for fall to get back in the game