Squattin, by Dale Clark
Way down this road, in a gym far away,
A young man was once heard to say,
“I’ve repped high and I’ve repped low,
No matter what I do my legs won't grow.”
He tried leg extensions, leg curls, and leg presses, too.
Trying to cheat these sissy workouts he’d do.
From the corner of the gym where the big men train,
Through a cloud of chalk and the midst of pain.
Where the big iron rides high and threatens lives,
Where the noise is made with big forty fives.
A deep voice bellowed as he wrapped his knees,
A very big man with legs like trees.
Laughing as he snatched another plate from the stack,
Chalking his hands and his monstrous back,
Said, “Boy stop lying and don’t say you’ve forgotten,
Trouble with you is you ain’t been squattin.”
there once was a man of sinue and bone
who called the land of iron his home
he stalked the jungles of gyms far and near
the sound of his name always inspired fear
no weight ever created could be his equal
his muscles were his there could be no sequel
his strength was beyond all could compare
his victims lay defeated laying in despair
he would shout to the masses that settled before him
about training and eating and living in the gym
his ethos and musings were written in stone
his striations were cut all the way to the bone
he was a giant breathing fire at each spoken word
thunder clapped and earth shook is all that was heard
he fought each battle with all his might
until his lions heart gave out late one night
when spoken in hushed tones from place to place
some tarnished his legend and put forth disgrace
he tried all he could to come in sharp as a knife
push past the what was needed and lost his life
