One mo' strike and I'm through, ^!$$%
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 ^!$$%s done struck-out
My first offense was possession of weed
Now I'm in the major leagues and

that motha$#&@a Bill Clinton-is a son of a (*##$
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 ^!$$% 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 %#@! (foul tip)

They felt the chill cuz if I get on first
You know the deal - a ^!$$%s 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 ^!$$% back to the warning track

fulla count they say I won't amount to %#@!
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 ^!$$%

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 ^!$$%s guaranteed to win
Against a bull%#@! loss and three strikes you in


Take me out to the ballgame
Take me out to the crowd (wha what, wha what)
Another ^!$$% 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 ^!$$% 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 ^!$$% 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)