Pickleball, Lacrosse, Football: The Suburban Trinity

Lyrics

You hear that?
That's the sound of a Saturday morning in Roswell.
Eight a.m.
The heat's already on.
Let's go.

East Roswell Park.
The tennis courts gave up without a fight.
You got the retirees with the new knees,
and the college kids home for the summer.
That little plastic ball, full of holes.
It's a dink shot, it's a third-shot drop.
It's the new religion, served up on asphalt.
Lines painted everywhere.
No one even remembers when they showed up.
They just did.

It's the pop of the paddle, the crack of the stick, the roar under the lights!
Pickleball, Lacrosse, and Football!
This is how we mark the time here.
This is the North Fulton bloodline.
Yeah, this is the suburban trinity.

Then the afternoon shifts.
You head over to Roswell High.
The turf is green, the nets are deep.
The cradle and the check.
Fastest game on two feet, they say.
A blur of mesh and carbon fiber.
Running the alley, dodging the slide.
This isn't your granddaddy's game.
This is new school, new South.
And we own it.

It's the pop of the paddle, the crack of the stick, the roar under the lights!
Pickleball, Lacrosse, and Football!
This is how we mark the time here.
This is the North Fulton bloodline.
Yeah, this is the suburban trinity.

And then the sun goes down.
Friday night.
You pick your colors.
You going with the Hornets?
The Knights?
Or the Titans down at Blessed Trinity?
Doesn't matter.
It's the same humid air, the same cheap hot dogs,
the same kid you know from Kroger making a tackle.
One town, three helmets, a thousand cheers from the bleachers.

It's the pop of the paddle, the crack of the stick, the roar under the lights!
Pickleball, Lacrosse, and Football!
This is how we mark the time here.
This is the North Fulton bloodline.
Yeah, this is the suburban trinity!

Roswell!
Let's hear it!
Yeah.
That's us.