| 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
|
| And like Magic I’m starting to believe y’all dudes ain’t that sick
|
| Might see ya boy scooping up a bird to get knowledge
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| Number one draft pick and I skipped college
|
| Snakes in the trenches I peep those, get injured
|
| End up like Grant Hill on the bench in your street clothes
|
| 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
|
| See the gleam from the shoes
|
| Man, I don’t mean to seem rude
|
| 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
|
| We handle the 4
|
| It’s the number one draft pick (Yours truly)
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| Let your gat spit, nigga
|
| Can’t treat me like a sucka
|
| Gather up your five, man meet me at the Rucker
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| Put the heat to you fuckers
|
| 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
|
| Understand when I was younger I was all on my own
|
| So when I said 3−2 I wasn’t calling a zone
|
| Nice truck, nice house and chain
|
| I car jacked you like Shaq shooting a three man get outta your Range
|
| 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
|
| 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
|
| Can’t pitch, I still handle the rock like Shammgod
|
| Still hurt you cowards
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| Still see me merking them Prowlers
|
| And know they still call me Dirk in Dallas
|
| I’m that nigga
|
| Man I kill lame queers
|
| It still ain’t clear
|
| Never saving the tech like Bill Laimbeer
|
| I got tools for rilly
|
| With shells that make your temple hot and I ain’t talking 'bout a school in
|
| Philly
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| I ain’t a selfish player
|
| Man, I help your weight up
|
| Cuz only Riders in this game now is myself and Isaiah
|
| Listen, you gettin dissed
|
| While I’m screwing these miss’s
|
| I’m on cruise control you still moving your pivot
|
| But I’ll show you how mean this crook be
|
| You and your dogs' like the Houston Comets, a team fulla pussy’s
|
| Creep
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| It ain’t a game no more, it’s a sport
|
| If you ain’t got heart to play then stay off the court
|
| Game over! |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song NBA, artist - Joe Budden. Album song No Love Lost, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп