that combo guard game

poetry in motion spoken shots at your devotion floating jumpers popping threes. swatting up and unders jogging backwards bringing thunder lighting up the key.                 reminding mother******s that nobody ****s with me, on the court it’s another                   typa language you don’t speak, the language of the body moving fluid can’t be beat:              crossover two step in and out ill with it spin move back step jump shot still in it pump fake duck down back up re-live it. hear a lotta big game talkers out here we live it no fear in the eyes of the real game winners, want the ball in his hands in the final ten seconds 9 8 7 6 five for the live crowd in the essence 3 to the levitate and rise to the rim. hesitate stutter step oh my he’s so thin! eurostepping through the lane dripping tears blood sweat either hand jamming in the game that i love and respect.

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