Roundball Shaman
Four-Star Recruit
There’s an old Frank Sinatra song that went something like this...
Thanks for the memory
Of things I can't forget, journeys on a jet
That wondrous time when wins were peak
And we would win ‘most every week.
And thanks for the memory
Of autumns Big with Red.
We used to have such happy fun
It was a joy back when we won.
Now since things changed, I wake up
Sad on the morning after
I pine for sounds of winning cheers
But all I have is eyes with tears.
But, thanks for the memory
Of every touch a thrill, I've now been through the mill
I've lived a lot and learned a lot, you win no more
I wonder what all this was for.
Thanks for the memory
Of how we used to smile
The barbecues in Lincoln town
When skies were bright and leaves were brown.
Thanks for the memory
Our tradition now made void
And now because the way things look,
I need some time with Sigmund Freud
The happy days have come and gone
I’m left to sing this sad sad song.
They wait for us in Big Ten Land
I'd rather see Sahara Sand.
I know it's been said
That grown men never cry, baby, that's a lie
We had our bed of red but see how roses die
Thank you boys for what you were
Our Nebraska proud Big Red.
Thanks for the memory
Of things I can't forget, journeys on a jet
That wondrous time when wins were peak
And we would win ‘most every week.
And thanks for the memory
Of autumns Big with Red.
We used to have such happy fun
It was a joy back when we won.
Now since things changed, I wake up
Sad on the morning after
I pine for sounds of winning cheers
But all I have is eyes with tears.
But, thanks for the memory
Of every touch a thrill, I've now been through the mill
I've lived a lot and learned a lot, you win no more
I wonder what all this was for.
Thanks for the memory
Of how we used to smile
The barbecues in Lincoln town
When skies were bright and leaves were brown.
Thanks for the memory
Our tradition now made void
And now because the way things look,
I need some time with Sigmund Freud
The happy days have come and gone
I’m left to sing this sad sad song.
They wait for us in Big Ten Land
I'd rather see Sahara Sand.
I know it's been said
That grown men never cry, baby, that's a lie
We had our bed of red but see how roses die
Thank you boys for what you were
Our Nebraska proud Big Red.