[Verse 1] Sixteen hours, tie pulled tight, Helmet fogged by sodium light. Chaz draws arrows on the page: “Run it sixteen hours again.” He calls the belt a sideline, Calls the quota fourth-and-nine. You blink twice; he points and roars, “Keep your feet beneath you, team!” [Chorus] Hustle, hustle—move the line, Practice till the clocks unwind. Leave it all out on the floor, Chaz is calling one play more. No one’s here to hear the call, Dust is sitting in the stands. State champs, two thousand four— Still clenched in his shaking hands. [Verse 2] Clipboard flakes against his thumb, Every box says “overcome.” His suit strains at the seams; He barks at vanished jerseys. A whistle made of rusted tin, A football worn smooth at the skin. He says, “We’ve got the heart to win”— The loading dock breathes cold again. [Chorus] Hustle, hustle—move the line, Practice till the clocks unwind. Leave it all out on the floor, Chaz is calling one play more. No one’s here to hear the call, Dust is sitting in the stands. State champs, two thousand four— Still clenched in his shaking hands. [Bridge] Twenty-four years, same last drive, Same old score kept barely alive. The team went home; the lights went dim. He’s still drawing routes for them. [Final Chorus] Hustle, hustle—move the line, Practice till the clocks unwind. Leave it all out on the floor, Chaz is calling one play more. Empty bleachers, vacant hall, Names rubbed off the locker wall. State champs, two thousand four— He keeps waiting for the call. [Outro] “Run it sixteen hours again.”
