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 mothafucka. 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 mothafucka 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 fuck can I stay out the pen. When its one-two-three strikes you in. Chorus:. One-two three strikes you in. Now how the fuck 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 bullshit 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 fuck 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 mothafucka 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 mothafuckin vet. And fuck 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 fuck 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).