Spalding

Niggas are playing basketball

Standing tall in public stalls

Of exploitation

Led by NBA commissioners

Positions allow players

To point guard layers

Of paychecks

That scream:

Run nigger, run!”

Don’t stand under the forward sun

‘Cuz you’ll get blacker

And blacker only means

You’ll run up and down the court more.

Don’t forget your athletic chores

Score at least 15 points per game

In order to claim the bodies of your groupies

For you are a trophy Black star

And in this arena your tar

Is

Accepted

Expected

Respected

Neglected

Most importantly, your tar is paid

Not feathered.

So Allen Iverson

Can cross over Kobe

But Kobe can’t cross over his color in

The courtroom

And Lebron can’t zoom over his million dollar

Estate if he can’t make them lay ups

NBA players are in stirrups

And corrupted contracts

Which latch

Onto their senses

Making senses

Immensely dense

They can’t think no more

Cuz they gotta score

They can’t complain

Cuz now the tamed

White hand

Feeds them, their children and future

Ancestors.

Even Michael Jordan has to eat Wheaties

For breakfast

Otherwise ESPN will gladly send

His Hall of Fame highlights to the hole

No more Air Jordans sold

Or Nikes unfolding on air

Just Blackies tearing through capitalism

Dem boys wanna dribble, dribble, dribble

Their way into Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous

So mamma can become shameless

And be proud of her baby.

So technically, we are Black Zombies

Since we can’t see the shackles, only feel them

Squeezing the life out of our hearts

While the Masters chart

Ticket sales, sneaker sales, jersey sales

Leaving our brains for sale

As long as we spend without buying

Not trying

To take back

Our land

From the invisible hand.

Sports center

Now a lost center

For lost truths

And new-found fame

But that’s just a part of the game

Isn’t it?

© Crystal Belle 2004