BabyTron - No Jumper Lyrics

(Ayo, Mark A) yeah
You missing clutch shots in the bi I mean
Hold on yeah, huh, yeah

You missing free shots in the clutch
You like Paul George
Bitch tugging on my dick, I told her, "Bae
It's all yours"
Turn my bully on her, get to shooting
I'm a small forward
She been eating dick for seven hours, damn
My balls sore
Linked up with Mark, every time I do that
It's a classic scoring champ
Pulled the MAC-11 out and hit his basket
ShittyBoyz, we on the Lodge tryna
See who whip the fastest
Coach always knew I was a shooter
Brought that bitch to practice
Three-point challenge
Me and gang pulling up from deep
Dee said, "It's pape' on the floor
Pull up on the East" i'm with hellhounds
Think my bullies need a leash
Like it's bail out, chain water
Fuck a Jesus piece
Fuck, I'm losing balance off this zaza
762s, 223s for the ra ra
Magician with the Visas
Take the 101 and voilà
Pretty bitch ain't got a chest
I had to buy her tatas
Wockiana in the Mountain Dew
It's a Baja smash
On-court coach, but right now, no
I'm not gon' pass
Caught a corn at the movies
And we popped his ass
Thinking with his dick
Two hoes finna lob his ass
Huh, up top where he finna go
Tron Stockton, see the mailman
That's a give-and-go
28 Amiris, forty K left me pigeon toed
Three hundred blackouts like a brush
They'll twist his 'fro
My salon is cutting bangs while I bust juggs
Blowing Turtle Pie on No Jumper
It was fuck drugs thinking that y'all deep
Get that seven-seater crunched up
Brodie want revenge, got a Glocky
Better tuck something pull and put 'em out
Someone put him in an ash tray
Something like I'm Jordan
I'ma win it in my last game
Getting famous, some stayed cool
The other half changed
Smart bitch gave me top and
Left with a half brain diving out the whip
Shooting silent like I'm Max Payne
Doggy upping twenty K, it somebody tax day
Fuck some pussy and some beef
I'm finna jack chase
Fuck some crab and some lobster
Finna have steak
Fuck a taser, fuck a Glocky, I'ma grab K
Test tube freezing, cooking fire
It's a Lab day
MVP like, shit, what the stats say?
Bitch talking 'bout a ring
Can never get my last name
Bitch talking 'bout a ring
Ain't worth a gram of Wedding Cake
In a widebody, finna go so fast
The pedal break
It's fucked up I had to scam to elevate
It's fucked up you still worried 'bout
The hoes instead of pape'
It's fucked up, I'm fucked up off the '42
Four thousand dollar fit, bitch
That's like forty blues
Looking for some coffee cups
I'm in Tim Hortons blew
If I walk in with my chain
She gon' more than choose
Huh, swear to God you gon' more than lose
Crib big as hell
I don't think you could afford a room
2002 whip you in, you can't afford a zoom
Thousand dollar cup, act rude
Get it poured on you

Huh, ayy, ShittyBoyz (Ayo, Mark A)
Ayy, ShittyBoyz