The Speaking Sole
What’s funny is I come from a box
Worn for style in the street but really made for jump shots
Sneaker heads collect me and do it in lots
Used to hold money stash guns and hide pot
1-29 I’ve been around close to 3 decades
Outside the box I live on the ground but my logo I can’t escape
Next to posters of Derek Jeter or D-Wade
Over me America has had a high crime rate
It’s a sham how a man dunking on a sole can define one’s fate
I debuted in ’84, when I first hit the store
Delighted kids skipped school and to my boxes they explored
Made no noise in ’85 but in ’86 help Mike score 63 points on Larry Birds home floor
After the second season fans prayed Phil help Tinker make more
Made in Oregon, born in Chicago then I possessed all of the USA
From Spike Lee flicks and commercials and after rehearsals
On Mike’s feet with games to play
I’ve represented AAU teams and gangs in LA
Style wise I go great with your designer shirt and favorite team’s snapback
I’m probably a log on most of your backpacks
Each year Nike designs a new classic
Laney 5’s, Playoff 8’s, Bred 11’s or your favorite college teams jacket
You stick your smelly feet past my tongue to boost your confidence
But when you’re out in public your clueless brain losses it’s common sense
During the 90’s I’ve been involved with gun shots and bloody bodies
All because my style is what they’re trying to copy
Made for basketball, but I started a culture fashion tide
How can I do that? I’m a man dunking and a 23 on my side
Most of the time
Most can’t afford me so the rob and steal
Making deals with weapons, and forcing my former owner’s not to squeal
Leaves a lot of inner city kids holding glocks and grudges
With more global and local news of death rates to publish
You would think Mike and Phil would lower prices but they do nothing
Except raise prices on their own budget
Throughout the drama I try to find peace
Violence I try to escape but with the stress by the year the more I crease
At times I feel suicidal but theirs no death to reach
Climbing closer to my peak like a ball player’s knee
Daily conflict somewhere, I’m convinced theirs no peace
But theirs pieces falling off me like leaves on an old tree
Just to show off instead of letting your game speak
Nike didn’t create me to be the cause that murder’s kids
I’m sure of this but Nike certainly is-NOT
They only care about creating dope patterns on an expensive shoe
That make’s kids foam posit(e) when they see the box
That’s the only place I feel safe
That claustrophobic place
When memories erase, what I embrace
Until I’m hated, traded, stolen hidden, sold thrown out, played in, killed for or given away
If I could speak I’d tell everyone to stop it
Fighting over my sold sole is just nonsense, while Nike gains profits
Made for everyone but it’s not equality
But the way I’m living now isn’t for me
I’m sorry Mr.23