Pound for Pound
They want him face down on the ground, but he won’t go. He grinds daily, mainly for his soul. His fans are his pride, ego aside.
Ebb and flow.
Man let em know, WINNING, that’s his motto. Stand and deliver. That’s all he knows.
Their watching from the sidelines, sweat is dripping in his eyesight.
He’s repping for his bloodline. Passion runs through his dreams at night. He dreams of the headline. He fights in the dark night, waking up only to realize, his opponent is in far sight. Damn. He wants it more than ever now. He’s seen it a thousand times now. Just let him go.
Just a kid, but to who? This ain’t nothing new.
He’s been fighting, been sacrificing, been visualizing.
They been analyzing, been chastising, been politicizing. He’s in his element, square circle, yeah that’s his shit.
Man, let um know.
It could all be so simple. They call him out, he knocks them out. Pretty simple. He’s working like he’s got something to prove, just waiting to make his next move.
His mind sharp like a Samurai’s sword.
His body strong like a bull.
His spirit free and flowing.
Showtime. Shine time. Fight time. First he clears his mind. Sweet delirium. Go get um. The horns blow.
He swings his feet to the rhythm. Bitter Symphony. Steadfast. He locks eyes with his opponent. Activated. His foe inundated. Blow after blow, the kid is in control.
His whole life he waited, just to be the greatest.
Go on and crown him king of the ring.
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