The Basketball Diaries | 1995

I'm going to shoot some hoops.

Sometimes I feel like something's chasing me,

like there's some whacko on a roof somewhere

who could snuff me out at any moment.

And I feel this horrible fear. Will I have time to finish...

the poems breaking loose in my head?

Hey, white boy,

you ready for your beating?

Don't let your mouth get you into something your ass can't handle.

I'll shoot you for it.

So it's going to be like that, huh?

I...

don't think so.

Yeah!

All right, so you made one.

Big deal. You made one shot.

Make another.

The days are muzzled in a vibe

I swing back from time to time

There's a Camaro, rusty red

That all my best friends drive in

Can you smell the summer air?

Take me where they left the light on

Getting close, almost there

If that fuzzy silver badge

Don't greet us there

My head's dizzy, and I'm taking...

Yo, Jim! What's the score? Come on. We got to go.

They don't keep score in this game.

Jim, come on. We're losing the sun.

He's being a dick. You want me to put a charge in his ass?

Whatch this.

Oh, look it, right here...

Jim's secret diary he's always writing in.

Bet you he wrote some shit about me.

Oh, right here.

"Spring... Mickey."

Hey, there I am, Jim says.

"Mickey takes out a bottle of carbonic cleaning fluid

and suggests we do a little sniffing to get high."