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 ******/
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 **** 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, *****
[Repeat]
Can't treat me like a sucka/
Gather up your five, man meet me at the Rucker/
Put the heat to you ****ers/
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 3 man, get outta your Range/
This is regular hood ****/
I put Don Cheaney under the arm and show him how to make a good knick/
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 *****/
[Chorus]
Man I kill lame queers/
It still ain't clear/
That I stay with a 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 *****'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]