| Shoulda never put me on this beat
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| Okay, yeah, normal baller
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| We back on tizzy, on top
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| Jump Off, Dub B, Jersey
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| Stand up
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| GO!
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| Jump off you rap guys is a joke
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| I’m here to take the scoring title without the green light from my coach
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| Man, don’t make me have to smack your lineup
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| I’m Michael Jordan y’all Harold Minor’s that rap vagina
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| All black ski mask, gloves, tuck the thing
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| Drive slow, lights out like «I love this game»
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| I live this y’all paint that pic
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| And like Magic I’m starting to believe y’all dudes ain’t that sick
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| Might see ya boy scooping up a bird to get knowledge
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| Number one draft pick and I skipped college
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| Snakes in the trenches I peep those, get injured
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| End up like Grant Hill on the bench in your street clothes
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| Talk about he real, how he quick with a Glock
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| But like Kurt Thomas he ain’t good for shit on the block
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| See the gleam from the shoes
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| Man, I don’t mean to seem rude
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| Gunshots do you like Vancouver make your team move
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| (Let's Go!)
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| It’s gone be the NBA never NBC (Yeah)
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| Rookie of the year slash MVP (Rap suckas, we back)
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| Never channel 4
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| We handle the 4
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| It’s the number one draft pick (Yours truly)
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| Let your gat spit, nigga
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| Can’t treat me like a sucka
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| Gather up your five, man meet me at the Rucker
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| Put the heat to you fuckers
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| Half Man-Half Amazing with a clip in my boot
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| My 4−5 will make you «Skip To My Lou», think about it
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| Understand when I was younger I was all on my own
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| So when I said 3−2 I wasn’t calling a zone
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| Nice truck, nice house and chain
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| I car jacked you like Shaq shooting a three man get outta your Range
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| This is regular hood shit
|
| I put Don Cheaney under the arm and show him how to make a good nick
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| If you wack, you need to probably write
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| Either that or quit it, throw in the chair like you Bobby Knight
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| I work damn hard
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| But don’t think I can’t rob
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| Can’t pitch, I still handle the rock like Shammgod
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| Still hurt you cowards
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| Still see me merking them Prowlers
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| And know they still call me Dirk in Dallas
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| I’m that nigga
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| Man I kill lame queers
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| It still ain’t clear
|
| Never saving the tech like Bill Laimbeer
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| I got tools for rilly
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| With shells that make your temple hot and I ain’t talking 'bout a school in
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| Philly
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| I ain’t a selfish player
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| Man, I help your weight up
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| Cuz only Riders in this game now is myself and Isaiah
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| Listen, you gettin dissed
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| While I’m screwing these miss’s
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| I’m on cruise control you still moving your pivot
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| But I’ll show you how mean this crook be
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| You and your dogs' like the Houston Comets, a team fulla pussy’s
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| Creep
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| It ain’t a game no more, it’s a sport
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| If you ain’t got heart to play then stay off the court
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| Game over! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song NBA , by - Joe Budden. Song from the album No Love Lost, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп