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Текст песни Joe Budden - NBA

Joe Budden - NBA слова песни

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 fuckersHalf 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 pussy`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!

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