How they dared to call you a tweener,
when you propelled every inch of lithe limbs
to play point, on the box, as a screener,
Queens-smooth in your Rolls to the rim.
Loooooove, (brother) you don't get enough of it,
seldom flash newly televised grins,
your vanity mirrors the pupils of fans.
For your tender cheek, you shall be punished,
take you an heiress, and fly with her whims;
lo, when the game swings, you'll find its dance.
