The Troubled Story of Boris Becker's Balls - Give Us Barabba

This is the troubled story of Boris Becker’s balls

How many aces?

— In!

Out!

In!

Mouth!

She had ten thousand sons of Boris Becker in her mouth

He didn’t understand what she was talkin' about

She was a hurricane, the dream of every man,

But ready to become a nightmare!

The tennis was your real job, passion and true love,

Your talent with the racket and the yellow and pink balls

You know is not the same, if they’re meat or plastic made

But someone knows and choose the meat ones to play with…

This is the troubled story of Boris Becker’s balls

Never enough of tennis court like pasta on my dish…

Everyone would really play like Boris with his balls

No one wanna suffer like a champion when he falls

The gyals inna di tennis court cryin' out their love

And Boris Becker’s balls are flying like a dove!

This is the troubled story of Boris Becker’s balls

How many aces?

— In!

Out!

In!

Mouth!

This is the troubled story of Boris Becker’s balls

Never enough of tennis court too much fame to be quiet

Now love is all around, your racket on your shoulders

Days of happiness!

Nobody wanted to break your balls and nobody hated you

Nobody drank…

Boris Becker, Boris Becker’s balls!

Boris Becker, Boris Becker’s balls!

Boris Becker, Boris Becker’s balls!

Too much fame to be quiet…

Now love is all around, your racket on your shoulders

Days of happiness!

Nobody wanted to break your balls and nobody hated you

Nobody drank…