Making money in Green Bay. Wearing gold rings. Bart Starr second coming. MVP. Four touchdowns in a half. 2003. In honor of my father I won an ESPY. Raider fans clapped. Offensive Player of the Week. Milestone Season. Chasing John Elway. Ten Pro Bowls. Why I gotta get away? With all I've done I can retire, then play.
My skills are real.
Why ya gotta hate on me?
A football God in real comfortable jeans.
In real comfortable jeans.
Named to the 90s All Decade Team. Operates a steakhouse baring my name. Why the Jet fans scream nothing but blame? Six touchdowns against the Cards is insane. What I suppose to do with a team that's ashame? Shoulder's busted up but I played, no complaints. Most quarterback records fall under my reign. Commercial star ICON in tight Wrangler jeans.
My skills are real.
Why ya gotta hate on me?
A football God in real comfortable jeans.
Walking through the tunnel shorty yelling my name. Bitch, I gotta wife; don't hate the player hate the game. Never get tired of my white clothes grass stains. Pig skin hide like a smash mouth mustang. Throwing kamikaze blocks in the Wisconsin rain. Running and gunning like Outlaw Jesse James. My any given sunday skill proves my crown. Peyton and Brady had to come through my town.
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Brett's a simple man with a passion for football. Comes home post-game and loves me all night long. Greatest Papa on the globe like a James Brown song. Gentle family man with a love that's so strong. Licks the lollipop lets the magic stick drop. Hail Mary through the sheets and the cherry goes pop. Best quarterback, the comparisons should stop. Greatest father, husband, lover. Baby's on top.
<Chorus>
I'm a deep threat bandit. A two-minute stunner. Whip a rag-tag Chevy, no need for a Hummer. Keep my shotgun level like an Allman Brother. Number four ain't the same since Favre donned the number. The Pack dropped me in favor of the young gun. Beat all 32? I'm the only one, son. Record setting season in the Minnesota limelight. Remember Favre to Freeman? Broken fingers, goodnight.
