The Contender

[Duke]

His father taught him how to box with a southpaw stance that’s awkward/
Soaking up knowledge, watching Apollo Creed box with Rocky/
Kid’s style was a mix of George crossed with Muhammad Ali/
Son entered a dark game, corrupt from the mob and from some Don King/

His friends out in the streets catch felonies, while he builds his pedigree/
He’s stinging like a bee, Olympic Gold Medal King/
On some “Rags to riches” like the man Tony Bennett sing/
A pair of golden gloves was the boy’s destiny/

In the ring holding fort, bidding war between Top Rank and Golden Boy/
Seek and Destroy, knockout power like his name was Roy/
Got his first ESPN date down in Belleville, Illinois/
Swear the kid was pumping steroids with fists flashing like a Polaroid

Contender rising on the elevator when fate decided to eliminate him/
Clubbing one night from Magic City on the way down to Decatur/
When some haters start to rush him like the Oakland Raiders/
Pull the major heat out and try to eviscerate him/

He put his hands up thinking his fists would save him, when the pistols played him/
Made it to the hospital but the slugs turned his dukes to Play-Dough/
Can no longer throw Haymakers, so promoters say see you later/
Blaming the creator, savior turned to his betrayer/

Next day in a Motel Six with the Sig deliberating/
Saying, “I know I can’t make it with my motivation fading”/
Can’t raise his kids, with no fists to bring home the bacon/
Raise the Sig to his cranium, brain turns to bombuclot like he’s Jamaican/