Nebraska Red in Battle Boots

Yeah. Huh. Floor shakes when we step in zone.

Red heat risin', blood like stone. White line's not a boundary, it's a warnin'

sign. We move silent, strike precise, leave them blind. Every dribble cracks

the hush. Defense locks down like rusted crush. No retreat, no reset switch.

You feel that bass hit? That's a heartbeat itch. Nebraska

like the fools. Red and white in battle boots. Feet stomp hard, eyes lock tight.

We turn this court into a fight. Clock don't tick. It holds its

breath while we carve paths through second death. Opponents stutter, miss their mark.