This is a song about "Players basket ball"

All i wanna know girl what yo name is, i see them other niggas they be on that lame shit

But i popped his face with the guage and now his death basket is in a closed casket!

Wolf gang, kill em' all

Schools out, its time to ball.

Cause i'm ill bitch, they couldn’t make a pill for the rap

But the ballers and the players, i ain’t living like that,

Baby, let me give you a call

Staring at the crystal ball

Don't call it a comeback, i been here for years

Look deep inside my train of thoughts, gold ring players,

Then never touch it, like your goatee it's grown for years

Just trying to go somewhere and play with europe players.

Alias, mussolinimentally unstable, "g" status

Because it's the third world, those dictators are basket cases,

A baby basket hound gettin lashed,

Got racks you don’t understand