Joe Budden - NBA Lyrics
Shoulda never put me on this beatOkay, yeah, normal ballerWe back on tizzy, on topJump Off, Dub B, JerseyStand upGO!Jump off you rap guys is a jokeI'm here to take the scoring title without the green light from my coachMan, don't make me have to smack your lineupI'm Michael Jordan y'all Harold Minor's that rap vaginaAll black ski mask, gloves, tuck the thingDrive slow, lights out like "I love this game"I live this y'all paint that picAnd like Magic I'm starting to believe y'all dudes ain't that sickMight see ya boy scooping up a bird to get knowledgeNumber one draft pick and I skipped collegeSnakes in the trenches I peep those, get injuredEnd up like Grant Hill on the bench in your street clothesTalk about he real, how he quick with a glockBut like Kurt Thomas he ain't good for shit on the blockSee the gleam from the shoesMan, I don't mean to seem rudeGunshots do you like Vancouver make your team move(Let's Go!)Chorus:It's gone be the NBA never NBC (Yeah)Rookie of the year slash MVP (Rap suckas, we back)Never channel 4We handle the 4It's the number one draft pick (Yours truly)Let your gat spit, nigga(Repeat)Can't treat me like a suckaGather up your five, man meet me at the RuckerPut the heat to you *****ersHalf Man-Half Amazing with a clip in my bootMy 4-5 will make you "Skip To My Lou", think about itUnderstand when I was younger I was all on my ownSo when I said 3-2 I wasn't calling a zoneNice truck, nice house and chainI car jacked you like Shaq shooting a three man get outta your RangeThis is regular hood shitI put Don Cheaney under the arm and show him how to make a good nickIf you wack, you need to probably writeEither that or quit it, throw in the chair like you Bobby KnightI work damn hardBut don't think I can't robCan't pitch, I still handle the rock like ShammgodStill hurt you cowardsStill see me merking them ProwlersAnd know they still call me Dirk in DallasI'm that nigga(Chorus)Man I kill lame queersIt still ain't clearNever saving the tech like Bill LaimbeerI got tools for rillyWith shells that make your temple hot and I ain't talking 'bout a school in PhillyI ain't a selfish playerMan, I help your weight upCuz only Riders in this game now is myself and IsaiahListen, you gettin dissedWhile I'm screwing these miss'sI'm on cruise control you still moving your pivotBut I'll show you how mean this crook beYou and your dogs' like the Houston Comets, a team fulla *****'sCreepIt ain't a game no more, it's a sportIf you ain't got heart to play then stay off the court(Chorus)Game over!
