Verse 1 I got a cooler in the stang and a brace on my knee, Been chunkin’ plastic circles since nineteen-ninety-three. Young bucks laugh when I step up slow, Till my beat-up roller starts stealin’ the show. I don’t throw big flex shots way up in the sky, I keep it low and dirty, let the grass decide. While they’re huntin’ in the woods where their distance drivers sank, My old roller’s cruisin’ down the fairway like a "TANK" (echo, echo). Chorus I’m the roller king at sixty-three, Still hummin’ through the trees. Got a lucky hat and aching back, But these old discs still roll for me. Everybody’s throwin’ high and pretty, I’m down low, smooth and gritty. When that disc stands up and starts to sing, You can hear the whole card yell, “Dang, he’s still got swing!” Verse 2 Met a fella named Tyler with a backpack full of hype, Carbon fiber retriever and a putter he called “light.” Said, “Sir, rollers are outdated now.” I said, “Son, watch this old man work the ground.” He had brand-new plastic and a Bluetooth speaker, A tour-series driver and a throw like a preacher. He wound up hard with a mighty cry, Then smacked first available and watched it die. I sent a beat-up Photon down the hill, It kissed one root and turned with perfect skill. Rolled past the basket and parked beside a tree, Tyler just blinked and said, “Teach that shot to me.” Verse 3 League night Thursday at the county park, Mosquitoes gettin’ rowdy when it starts gettin’ dark. Larry blew his shoulder tryin’ full power, I rolled one close by the wildflower. Big Mike grip-locked into the creek, Jenny hit chains with a lucky sneak. But down on hole seven with the wind blowin’ mean, My roller cut through like a fairway machine. There’s wisdom in the wobble and the dusty old discs, In knowin’ every bad kick and every windy risk. Young arms fade by hole fifteen, But us old roller throwers? We stay smooth and lean. I might need glasses to read the sign, But I know every root on that back-nine line. They call me lucky, but between you and me, It’s forty years of rollin’ GEOMETRY (echo) Bridge Now my grandkids ride along and carry minis in their hand, They think their grandpa’s famous all across the land. And maybe I ain’t sponsored, maybe I ain’t rich, But I can still carve magic with a funky sideways pitch. When my knees start barkin’ and my back gets tight, That roller keeps on dancin’ into sunset light. Chorus I’m the roller king at sixty-three, Still hummin’ through the trees. Got a lucky hat and aching back, But these old discs still roll for me. Everybody’s throwin’ high and pretty, I’m down low, smooth and gritty. When that disc stands up and starts to sing, You can hear the whole card yell, “Damn, he’s the Roller King!” Verse 4 Someday they’ll scatter my ashes out by hole number nine, Near the crooked cedar and the old park sign. And if the wind blows right on a warm July eve, You might see a ghost roller curlin’ through the leaves. Some kid’ll ask, “Who taught that crazy line?” And somebody’ll grin and say, “An old-timer in his prime.” Then they’ll all laugh loud while the chains go ching, For the legend of the roller king. Oh yeah! Outro Roll on, roll on, Down that fairway line. Roll on, roll on, Still feelin’ fine. Roll on, roll on, Let the young arms swing. I’ll be low and gone, Like the roller king. I may move slow, But I still got soul. When the disc hits dirt, Everybody knows....This is "The legend of the roller king" The Mother fuckin' Roller King! (Echo)