On the court I have no friends. Everyone is food.
On the court I can’t be stopped. Ball in my hands pushing the break, you’re at my mercy with every dribble.
Left, Right. Left, Right. Right, Left. GONE…
I’ve prepped myself for this moment. On the court, blacktop or hardwood, if you look closely you see my name scribed.
My sweat, my blood, my tears. They’re all there, on this court.
From one on one battles, to games of 21, to 3’s or 5’s; I’ve put in that work.
Close your eyes, open them. Take another look, you might see ankle fragments on this court. Shoot, they could be yours.
What do you want? The Crossover? The In and Out? The behind the back? The Euro?? Pick your poison.
Look at you. Yeah YOU. You can’t hold me and you know it. SWISH…
Now I know you don’t wanna be on this court. At least not now. You asked for a switch??
My laugh…
I didn’t mean to shoot with my eyes closed on you. Didn’t mean to have one arm behind my back. My BAD.
Matter of fact, I’m so confident on this court, I don’t need to play offense. You can have the ball.
Check ROCK… I dare you to come inside. That’s what I thought, BRICK… BRICK… BRICK AGAIN…
You don’t run this Court… NEXT
In every neighborhood in America there’s a King of the Court. That guy who takes defending his court personal. No pain, No game as they say. Never afraid of the moment, always up to the challenge. No matter the obstacle, you must defend your court.
Is it you???
