Like a general atop a tank, he commands.

Like an old Indian chief dropin' knowledge on young braves,

          'Bout how 'The Game' used to be played,

                 Back in his rookie days.



             Flashing plays on his left hand,

             Dribblin' the rock in his right.

          Shakes the 'D' with a killer-crossover,

                       Outta sight!



                   Slashes to the whole,

                 Dribbles behind his back,

                Streaks past the 7-footer,

                   Straight to the rack!



                    No time remaining.

                    Clock runnin' dead.

                       Don't worry!

                 He always keeps his head.



                        Down by 2,

                     Six seconds left,

                     He won't give up!

                       On his side,

      He's got leadership, experience and pure luck!

                  Dribblin' up the court,

He's like a cat hunched down, waitin' to pounce on a mouse.

                  Yellin' out directions,

            Keepin' the offense runnin' smooth.

    Waits for the young point guard to make a mistake,

                 Then takes him to school.



                      Pops the three,

                 From the top of the key,

               Right arm extended in midair,

          Frozen, like a black Statue of Liberty.

                   Who else could he be,

                     No other brother,

                       Number '23'.



                         No fear!

                       Pure shooter!

                  Ice water in his veins!

                        A sure bet!

           He's done it a million times before,

             Buzzer sounds, (BBBBUUZZZZZZZZ!!)

                   Nuthin' but net!!!!!!