Music Video

Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Michael Christmas
Michael Christmas
Band
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Michael Lindsey
Michael Lindsey
Songwriter
Thelonious Martin
Thelonious Martin
Songwriter
Aniko Thomas
Aniko Thomas
Songwriter
Brianna Lewis
Brianna Lewis
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Thelonious Martin
Thelonious Martin
Producer
Aniko Thomas
Aniko Thomas
Producer

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
As high as a striped bird
But fuck the Lakers, bitch
Except Lonzo, don't leave that out
Free LiAngelo, buddy ain't do shit
Ay, my ****, Tee Martin
Brandon Ingram is cool too
[Verse 2]
Ball, get a crib that's high as a scraper
Ball like a Laker, fuck the Lakers
Ball like LaVar, I'm 'bout my paper
Bought my mom a crib where she got no neighbors
Ball, ain't it slow for you ho **** when I ball
I told you I would ball, ****, didn't I ball?
And I might not see you later, answer my prayer
God, let me ball
[Verse 3]
Ball please, pass me the ball please
So I can go off key, spin move, off three
If that shit go in, newspaper all me
Fat boy the maker, not yet but he stay hood
Nerdy as hell, I been layin' off the squares
Can't you tell? Feel like I need a chip
But finally not bitin' my nails, I'm in the air like Nimbus
Hercules, Mount Olympus, Hades plottin' on me
Since I was a baby, he a big bitch, bitch, bitch
[Verse 4]
Now what's my favorite word? M O N E Y till I d-ie
And if you tr-y, I press the rewind
Then press the hit stick, you hit the sideline
Bobby Bushay to the bullshit
Martyr is better, two braids, gold chain and Nautica sweater
I'm lookin' like I'm Uncle Mike
Computer ballin', awkward type
And you can spark the blunt as soon as I get off the flight
[Verse 5]
Ball, get a crib that's high as a scraper
Ball like a Laker, fuck the Lakers
Ball like LaVar, I'm 'bout my paper
Bought my mom a crib where she got no neighbors
Ball, ain't it slow for you ho **** when I ball
I told you I would ball, ****, didn't I ball?
And I might not see you later, answer my prayer
God, let me ball
[Verse 6]
Ball please, that's all I need
Okay, for real, for real
I need to chill and kill it back to back like Drizzy Mill
With Miley Cyrus dissin' rap and twerkin' ass like Hank Hill
And then I'm supposed to act like I can take it as a joke
Be hearin' sly shit from the nervous white folks
Don't trip, I like those that don't trip about my skin
Or my lips, or my golds
When ETF phone home, they call me like, hold on
I came back to pick my mans up, plan to jump another planet
God, let me ball, God, let me
Andre the Giant, chokeslam the rap game, I'm so damn defiant
'Cause I'm gettin' high and I am not being violent
Whatever, man
I gotta get my shit together, man
Predict the rain like the weatherman
Predict them days gettin' better, man
God, let me ball, God, let me ball
[Verse 7]
Ball, get a crib that's high as a scraper
Ball like a Laker, fuck the Lakers
Ball like LaVar, I'm 'bout my paper
Bought my mom a crib where she got no neighbors
Ball, ain't it slow for you ho **** when I ball
I told you I would ball, ****, didn't I ball?
And I might not see you later, answer my prayer
God, let me ball
Written by: Aniko Thomas, Brianna Lewis, Michael Lindsey, Thelonious Martin
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out

Loading...