One mo strike and I m through
nigga Bottom of the ninth swingin
for my life I m up at the plate
goin for the gate They got my moms seated in section eight Been on deck since my last felony I m that 0 for 2 motha a With the Louisville Slugger Shay Whitie
that left hand punk is on the mound and he comin wit dat off-speed junk Its the Westside Hustlaz
vs these LA Pigs You can say the damned vs the nigs My little homies in the dugout They lookin sad
cuz fourteen niggas done struck-out My first offense was possession of weed Now I m in the major leagues and that motha a Bill Clinton-is a son of a bitch had the nerve to throw out the first pitch I m just tryin to get rich like Trump The Home Run king is now in a slump
pass me a hunk How the can I stay out the pen When its one-two-three strikes you in [Chorus:] One-two three strikes you in Now how the a nigga supposed to stay out the pen
I m on a blend of Gin and Hen
everyday of my life With two strikes it ain t right He s in the wind-up Here come the pitch I swing
aw shit (foul tip) They felt the chill cuz if I get on first You know the deal - a niggas gots to steal Like to steal home and I betcha That I can run over
the LA Pig catcher Just because I m black
wit a bat They wanna send a nigga back to the warning track fulla count they say I won t amount to shit But fool I can hit like Kenny Grit With a split in my mouth on tha cellular phone (It s going
going
gone!) And watch a pitcher get served You from tha LA Pigs I know you coming with a curve Ay batter
batter is the chitter-chatter I m the designated hitter
a nigga much badder
than Babe Ruth Will I tell the truth and nothing but the truth Hell yea
I d rather be shootin hoops Cuz a niggas guaranteed to win Against a loss and three strikes you in Take me out to the ballgame Take me out to the crowd (wha what
wha what) Another nigga on trial Keep ya peanuts Jeezuh And you Cracker Jack I hope I never come back I gots to root for my homeboys If they dont win its a shame Cuz its one-two-three strikes you in twenty-five years of pain you know my name They wanna nigga to run and get hung high strung
so this pig can win the Cy-Young I ma hit this motha a a mile In the batters box
high as Steve Hal You can t salary cap my gat No strike
cuz gangsta-rap is on the map I m like Satchel Paige wit a gauge Or Jackie Robinson
when I m robbin one of you Cracker Jacks fool I m a motha in vet And yo seventh-inning stretch
so Take me out to the ballgame
and see my neighborhood name In your Ghetto Hall of Fame [Chorus x 3] Yea (It ain t right) Playin people like a game (It aint right) Human beings
puttin em in a jar (It aint right) for double life
triple life (It aint right) Take me out to the ballgame Take me out to the crowd (wha what
wha what) Another nigga on trial Keep ya peanuts Jeezuh And you Cracker Jack I hope I never come back I gots to root for my homeboys If they dont win its a shame Cuz its one-two-three strikes you in twenty-five years of pain you know my name You know my name (wha what
wha what) [x 4] If I die tonight
you know who did it (you know) If I ride tonight
you know who did it (you know) If they sheck me up
you know who did it (don t guess) If they check my nuts
you know who did it (get em) If they break my bank
you know who did it (yea) If they pull my rank
you know who did it (get em) If they sock me up
you know who did it (yea) If they lock me up
you know who did it (get em) If they smear my name
you know who did it If they kill my game
you know who did it Remember me (you know who did it) Wha what
wha what (you know who did it) |
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