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)
 Wha what, wha what (you know who did it