《83》

Yeah. Eighty-three. No asterisks.

Keep typing. I'll keep scoring.

They say I'm just a blue-collar setting the screen,

Now I'm haunting your dreams, dissecting the scene.

Eighty-three on the board, yeah, look at the stats,

couch coach crying, typing in caps.

"He shot too many freebies," that's what they say,

'Cause your four-man rotation got blown straight away.

Hack-a-Bam? Please, I'm cash from the line,

Thirty-six in the net, the victory's mine.

Try to put an asterisk, call it a fraud?

I put the Wizards to sleep, thanking the Lord.

Eighty-three! Looking down from the absolute peak,

Kobe at eighty-one, let the history speak.

Wilt, me, then Kobe—yeah, that sounds crazy,

I'm the ultimate nightmare, your vision gets hazy.

Haters keep barking, I'm wearing the crown,

Number thirteen in the building, shutting it down!

They want a Hollywood script, a superstar face,

Mad 'cause a "grinder" just took over the place.

"He ain't on Kobe's level!" Man, respect to the dead,

But I dropped eighty-three, hear what I said?

Forget the fourth quarter, check the first three,

Sixty-two points, absolute mastery.

You dissecting the tape, looking for flaws,

While the whole arena stands up with applause.

One-fifty to one-twenty-nine, read the score,

I didn't just break the record, I won the war.

So keep your cheap talk, your fake outrage,

The "nobody" just rewrote the front page.

Eighty-three! Looking down from the absolute peak,

Kobe at eighty-one, let the history speak.

Wilt, me, then Kobe—yeah, that sounds crazy,

I'm the ultimate nightmare, your vision gets hazy.

Haters keep barking, I'm wearing the crown,

Number thirteen in the building, shutting it down!

Yeah.

Keep typing behind that screen.

Your fingers get tired, my stats get higher.

Eighty-three.

Miami, we up.