Mychal's on the mic and the vision is gold,
A championship story that’s yet to be told.
Mychal’s play-by-play is getting risky in the kitchen,
He’s scouting for a daughter-in-law, that’s the new mission.
Forget the splash brothers, he wants a Hot Girl Summer,
If Klay is the shooter, then Meg is the front-runner.
Talking ‘bout apron strings and some seasoning salt,
If this game plan fails, it ain’t the Pops’ fault.
Cooking with the Stallion, shooting for the stars,
From the three-point line to the hip-hop bars.
Mychal’s got the recipe, Klay’s got the heat,
The wildest court-side wedding that you’ll ever meet.
Cook it up, cook it up, yeah!
Check the stats, check the plate,
Mychal’s tryna set the date.
From the Bay to the H-Town,
Put that championship crown down.
No more bachelor life, just a Hottie for a wife.
Hey Klay, put the ball down and grab the spatula, man.
Pops is just tryna get a Grammy in the family.
or whatever they call it.
