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The Troubled Story of Boris Becker's Balls - Lyrics

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…

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