Little Tupac, with a wicked jump shot

Updated: February 6, 2013

NORTH CAROLINA (BASN)—Former NBA Most Valuable Player and 11-time NBA All-Star Allen Iverson’s name appeared in the news again last week. This time it involved a contract to play for the NBA Development League for the Texas Legend, which is a D-League affiliate of the Dallas Mavericks. A.I., of course, rejected the contract from the Legends, which is co-owned by Mavericks president of basketball operations Donnie Nelson.

 “I thank Donnie and Dallas for the consideration and while I think the D-League is a great opportunity, it is not the route for me,” Iverson said on his Twitter account.

In the defense of Iverson, who is a first ballot future NBA Hall of Famer, we, at, still continue to recognize him for his greatness.

Why? Because, in 914 NBA games, Iverson averaged 26.7 points per game, which ranks sixth all-time, while winning the league’s scoring title in 1998-99, 2000-01, 2001-02 and 2004-05 seasons.

With that said, we offer this poem in tribute to Allen Iverson, our “little Tupac, with a wicked jump-shot.”



Allen Iverson aka the wounded warrior.

Street soldier. True baller.

Our “little” brother. Our “little” Lion King.

The swagger in his walk. Made his chain swing.

From side-to-side. Praised and crucified.

But still I Rise.

Look at the pain in his eyes.

Hat-tilted to the side.

It’s the Return of Jedi Code name A.I. “Do or Die”

Top ten. Dead or Alive

Cause this 76er could light-up the Sky.

Like the 4th of July.


Our little Tupac with a wicked jump shot.

Harassed by the Hip-hop cops.

So skinny and slim. In an over-sized pair of Tims.

But the ladies still love him.

The Ghetto made him crazy. Mamma’s baby. Daddy’s maybe.

Criticized for missing practice.

Baptized by John the Baptist.

The realist. Real Philly “Kats” can feel this.

Simply the best.

The Star shines in the East

Even upon the West.

Take heed to the Words That I Manifest.

God Bless.

Jesus Christ. The Kid is nice.

He is battered, bruised, and tattooed But he refused to lose

Even when the cheers turned to boos.

We still loved this dude.

Because he was us, Is us, So Strong. So Tough.

The World is not Enough,

They wanted him locked up In Handcuffs


His Afro was his halo.

My Hero. Your Heru.

He is too good to be true.

He looks like me and you.

Loved by a Few.

Hated by Many.

He gave the NBA street credibility.

The true King of Philly.

He rocked African braids and a do-rag.

Let his pants sag.

On the court, we loved the way he zig-zagged.

I don’t mean to brag But Damn he’s good.

He is loved in the hood.

Embraced by the streets

We loved the way he played the game

With the bounce of a Hip-Hop beat.

His killer cross-over left Jordan bend over biting his own tongue.

Forever young.

Competition is none.

Philly’s favorite son.

Allen Iverson.

From one brother to another.

Man, you know, we still love ya.

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