Day Crew 2026

Part I
It’s 11:30 a.m., alarms didn’t ring,
Coffee breath prayers and knees that ping,
White mats shining like dental light,
Everybody’s limping but acting polite,
Tape on fingers, ego in bags,
One guy stretching like he’s fighting a bear on rags,
We came in heroes, we left in shame,
Everybody groaning but coming again.
We ain’t fast, we ain’t spry,
But we sign waivers and wonder why.
This is day crew, slip and slide,
White mats, bad knees, busted pride,
We fall, we roll, we wheeze, we pray,
We tap so fast it’s basically ballet,
No gold belts, no TV fame,
Just ibuprofen and chiropractor claims,
We get smashed, we get bent,
By friends who apologize while they dislocate you politely, respectfully, and with consent.
Antonio drops with a sleepy stare,
Bear-beast guard like a folding chair,
Half-guard heavy, rent-due tight,
Feels like a sofa falling from flight,
He says “you good?” while you see white light,
Texting your family goodbye mid-fight.
Tamashiro floats like he’s not there,
Then your elbow files a missing-arm report somewhere,
One blink later you’re signing your name,
On a tap that sounds like emotional shame.
Genji spins like a haunted chair,
Physics quits, your legs aren’t there,
Aaron walks in a white-belt glow,
Leaves performing miracles nobody can explain though.
​Dylan Uno sweats like a koi in July,
Slippery as soap, can’t catch the guy,
You grab his sleeve, it’s already wet,
He’s gone again like an unpaid debt.
Slammer KO says “sorry bro,”
While gently folding you into a taco,
Nice voice, mean grip,
You black out politely mid-friendship.
Rama prays then Rama hunts,
Visitors learn new fear real quick, real blunt,
They came for cardio, they left with trauma,
Now they’re texting their moms about Rama.

Part II
​Jesse Lima smiles, Brazil on his tee,
Nicest guy with felony-level knee,
Says “all good bro” while you sink and drown,
Pressure so heavy your thoughts shut down.
Andrew Choy still chewing, crushing your frame,
Smashing pressure like he’s paid per crunch, no shame.
Johnny Vegas in a tight-tee trance,
Martini grin with a ham-sandwich clamp,
Shakes the glass, shakes your legs,
Orders olives while you beg.
Johnny Beard bartends, surfs, stays hurt,
Taped-up ribs in a faded shirt,
Limps in smiling, still comes back,
White mats call — he answers that.
Daniel Lyman, Hawaiian built and cool,
CrossFit apostate with old-school rules,
Grip like lava, stance set wide,
Smiles calm while your base slides,
Andrew Choy dentist grip — clinical, clean,
Checks your bite while he crushes your spleen,
Andrew Cook money-brain, devil-trained look,
You tap to pressure — and profit — from Cook.
Day by day the true ones stay,
Honorless boys,
Stole our days.
Bless these knees, bless this floor,
Bless whoever forgot deodorant more,
Bless the visitors trying to look brave,
Bless the Uber drivers taking them home in pain.
This is day crew, slip and slide,
White mats, bad knees, busted pride,
We gasp, we wheeze, we limp away,
We swear we’re quitting… then show up Monday,
No fame, no pay, just friendship bruised,
We’re being rebuilt on white mats abused,
By people we love who choke us slow,
And say “my bad, bro” before they go.
Same white mats,
Same loud groans,
Same weird family,
Same beautiful damage.

​RSA Original
Lyrics and music created with the help of a.i. tools.
​1/2026