John Smith Look Ma, No Hands
[Verse One]
Now I wasn't a gimp when I was just a small tyke
And like most boys I had one of them small bikes
Foam pad on the bar that said "BMX"
So you wouldn't lose no teeth but I damn near broke my neck
Attempted to ride no hands with no crash
Often meant rip sweatpants and road rash
So I gave up trying until that fine summer afternoon in '99
When a good friend of mine outlined to me his perception
Of the secret of biking without handlebars
An idea was hatched, conception
I was brewing up something like a samabar
It was all about pace and maintaining rhythm
It wasn't long before I could keep up with him
It was addictive
Rolling from place to place
Able to scratch my hairy ass and the stubble on my face
Without sweating getting tossed to my left
And ended up with the chaps like cleft chin
Second week of August and my no hands is flawless
I knew I was close to fulfilling the promise
That I made to myself on the day I learned
I can go from crib to work
The curves and turns of Inkster industrial park
Present no hassles, baffle motorists scoffed
At the bepectacled spectacle
Something green in his mouth and it ain't a vegetable
Smoking the shit they say makes you forgetful
But I ain't about to forget the day I rode with a pair of free mitts
And a J.O.I.N.T. lit
[Scratches]
"Making tracks on BMX bicycles"
