"NBA"
  Shoulda never put me on this beat
  Okay, yeah, normal baller
  We back on tizzy, on top
  Jump Off, Dub B, Jersey
  Stand up
  GO!
    Jump off you rap guys is a joke
  I'm here to take the scoring title without the green light from my coach
  Man, don't make me have to smack your lineup
  I'm Michael Jordan y'all Harold Minor's that rap vagina
  All black ski mask, gloves, tuck the thing
  Drive slow, lights out like "I love this game"
  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
  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
  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
  (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 4
  We handle the 4
  It's the number one draft pick (Yours truly)
  Let your gat spit, nigga
  [Repeat]
    Can't treat me like a sucka
  Gather up your five, man meet me at the Rucker
  Put the heat to you fuckers
  Half Man-Half Amazing with a clip in my boot
  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
  If you wack, you need to probably write
  Either that or quit it, throw in the chair like you Bobby Knight
  I work damn hard
  But don't think I can't rob
  Can't pitch, I still handle the rock like Shammgod
  Still hurt you cowards
  Still see me merking them Prowlers
  And know they still call me Dirk in Dallas
  I'm that nigga
    [Chorus]
    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
  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
  It ain't a game no more, it's a sport
  If you ain't got heart to play then stay off the court
    [Chorus]
    Game over!