Original subtitles

- I got one for y'all. Ayesha Curry or Savannah James?

- Shit, I'll snag both of them Lar-tinas.

- You know the rules to the game, homey.

Can't take both.

- That's a mediocre mindset, my nig.

- Well, I'll take Ayesha over Savannah,

'cause you already know 'Bron did damage to them levies.

- God damn it, Randy.

What you doing, motherfucker? Get your head in the game.

You ain't light-skinded enough to make that pass.

- Damn, Bundy's breath is on one today.

I can actually see his words.

- It's like the Tooth Fairy took a shit in his mouth.

- I'm finna capture a BET award for this.

- Who in the motherfucking hell you think you is?

Russell Westbrook? - Well, I--I wish, Coach.

- Well, you ain't, you quasi-gay motherfucker.

- I'm trying, Coach.

You don't have to be so agro about it.

- Well, try harder, ya no-toughness-havin',

wanna be a point guard but dribble like Dwight Coward,

couldn't jump over a credit card motherfucker.

I'm sorry.

Maybe I should just put a gun to my head.

- Go ahead, motherfucker. Everybody knows you can't shoot.

- Anybody else wanna fuck up my dreams?

- I'm uploading this shit right now, yadada mean?

Got you, motherfucker.

What?

- Damn it, damn it, damn it... - I don't know.

Oh, I'm very excited here.

- Everybody settle down.

I know that we've all seen the video,

and I'm sure Coach Bundy wants to apologize.

Ladies and gentlemen...

I ain't apologizing for shit!

Questions?

- Kiss my grits, Bundy.

You can't bully my son. He's your best player!

- These kids need to be coddled, enabled, and lied to,

just like they will be in the real world.

Some ol'-- some ol' emo type shit.

- Look, it's time to vote.

All those in favor of Coach Bundy being fired,

say "holler." all: Holler!

- Sorry, Coach, the parents have spoken.

Gonna have to fire you. Now turn in your whistle

and your polyester compression shorts.

- I ain't turning in shit, motherfucker.

Y'all come get this motherfucker if you want to.

- God damn, man. You need all that dick?

- It looks like longtime Duncan head coach, Ike Bundy,

is in bloody waters after a video leaked of him

beraping one of his players with his ball.

The Chamberlain Heights school district

will be looking for a replacement

who can keep it coolio under pressure.

I wrote that.

- Looking for some midnight anus, handsome?

- Damn, Milk. Ain't you gonna go apologize

to Coach Bundy for getting him booted?

- Forget Coach Bundy. He always yelling at us,

he don't give us any burn, and his breath smell like

his mouth and his ass switched places.

- Can I help you? - I'm your new head coach.

- Derek Fisher, I get that you're a basketball player,

but you can't just come in here and--

Oh, shit. - That is a nice suit.

- Students of Duncan, it is with great pleasure

that I introduce you to your new head basketball coach.

He's well-hung-- I mean, well-equipped

to handle this job.

Give it up for five-time NBA champion, Derek Fisher!

- He's so gorgeous.

I got some bait for those fish lips.

- We got a celebrity coach, my nig.

- Ah!

We might actually get some burn.

- How you figure? We ride the bench.

- He ain't seen us play,

so he don't know that y'all suck.

What? I got statistics.

Google me, bitch.

- I'm your coach. You're welcome.

- I'ma have your babies, Coach Fisher!

- What's wrong with you, Ike?

You look like me on our wedding day.

- Rivers brought that goddamn Derek Fisher in to take my job.

- Derek Fisher? Ooh, Lakers' Derek Fisher?

- Yes, the sexy, delicious, high yella motherfucker.

- You can say that again. - Say what again, motherfucker?

- Huh? What? Uh-- oh, uh, nothing, Ike.

- I mean, what has this nigga done really?

- Eh, nothing. He's only a five-time NBA champion,

'96 Sun Belt Player of the Year,

and the best-looking Laker since Jamaal "Silk" Wilkes.

- Everybody knows Rick Fox is the prettiest Laker of all time.

Anyways, Fisher's coaching the game tonight,

and I wanna go see the motherfucker crash and burn.

- Duncan High is the place to be tonight

for the debut of Head Coach Derek Fisher.

- You're welcome. Love me. Love me.

Who wants to sex Fisher?

- Fisher.

- Bundy.

- You know you ain't shit, right?

- I know. Who do I make this out to?

- Fuck you, Fish.

What the fuck? God damn, nigga, you strong.

- You're welcome.

- Bundy, just so you know,

I personally have no problem with you being here.

In fact, you can go sit on the bench

with the rest of the shit crew.

- Fuck you, Doc!

- Work that black D, baby!

- And the Blind Bats win the tip.

I bet no one saw that coming.

- Hey, Bundy, welcome to the shit crew.

- What you talking about, Jamal?

I ain't one of y'all motherfuckers.

So what y'all do when y'all just sitting here?

Y'all play any games, like, uh,

Chutes and Ladders or Battleship?

'Cause I will sink all you motherfuckers.

- We scout the spectators for future boos.

Ooh, and a number one prospect just entered the premises.

- Shit, I'd crash, smash, and Kardash that ass.

- Shit, I'd eat it, beat it, and skeet it.

- She's a brick house.

I'd leave my old lady for that mother--

wait a goddamn minute. That is my old lady!

Who the hell you think you pinky waving at?

That's my wife, motherfucker.

- You the name of the game. Your bitch chose me.

Motherfucker.

- You're welcome.

- Ah!

Ugh.

- Y'all can kiss the blackest part of my ass.

Why?

- And even in defeat,

Derek Fisher is still victorious.

- Ah, damn it!

- Ike, I am done with you and this marriage.

You ain't shit, your breath smells like shit,

and you don't even have a meat print.

- I just got fired, and now you gonna fire me too?

Don't do this to me, sweetie.

- Look, Ike, I'm a basketball wife,

and you out of the game.

I found someone else to run the dick and roll with.

- Now ain't this a bitch and two hos?

- I'm happy Coach Bundy got booted.

I won't miss him or that hot-ass breath.

- I feel you. Coach Fisher the wave.

Bundy wasn't even the wave cap.

- I ain't gonna lie. His smile is infectious.

If I was a girl, I'd let him blow me.

Relax, guys, it ain't gay if I'm a girl.

- Anyways, we just gotta make sure

we show Coach Fish we some legends.

I'm kinda nervous for our first practice with him.

- Don't be nervous, Grover.

- Mom, shut yo' ass up and drive.

Mind yo' business when black folks talking.

- Oh, Milky, relax. Jamal is right.

Coach Fisher is handsome.

He's smooth, but hard-- oh, and supple.

He's definitely a coconut oil kinda Mandingo.

- Yo, Moms, you can't say that kinda racist shit.

- Oh, please. I've had more black semen in me

than a Haitian submarine.

Anyhoo...

your coach messaged me last night on Snapchat,

asking me to be a team mom.

- Hold up, why Coach Fisher hitting you in the DMs?

- Because, honey, everyone knows it goes down in the DMs.

- You want to be great, you must follow the Fishman.

- Damn, my nigs, Coach Fisher's practice

was lamer than a motherfucker.

- Yup, all bruh did was show off his meat print

and make us shag his jumpers.

That shit was some boo-boo.

- Yup, Bundy may have had death breath,

but at least he wanted to make us better.

He probably screaming at his new team right now.

- Slow down, and let me find the motherfucker. Damn!

- I don't understand why I can't have the fish.

- Fuck a fish.

- What's the problem now, fuck boy?

- The fish and the chicken look the same.

- Do you see the pictures? When does fish have feet?

- Come on, boss. My cataracts is acting up.

- Come on, get your head in the game

and get this line moving, fuck boy.

- You can't talk to me like that.

I used to be a coach.

- Look at me. I'm the coach now.

- Uh, Coach Bundy? You work here now?

- No, you dumb mother-- I mean, yes.

Y'all the reason why I got fired in the first place.

- Damn, bruh, I thought you'd at least be manager.

You okay? - Do I look okay?

I just lost my job and my wife to Derek Fisher.

- For real? How you know he's smashing?

- He left this at my house.

- That look awful small to be D-Fish's headband.

- Nah, this is his cock band.

Now, this is his headband.

- That don't prove shit.

- Oh, and, uh, I walked in on them fucking.

- Oh, gotcha. - I'm nothing without Duncan.

As much as I hated you no-talented bastards,

I loved coaching y'all. I was tough,

but that's the only way I know how to coach.

Basketball was my life.

- Hey, fuck boy. I done warned you too many times

about getting sentimental with the customers.

You fired.

- Damn, that's the second time I've been fired this week.

Well, nothing left to do but go smoke some rocks.

- It is game time.

Now I've been looking at the analytics

and crunching the data points,

and this strategy works the best.

Randy and Mumblemouth, I am benching you.

- What? Come on, Coach. I'm team captain

and the best player on the squad.

- Man, how you gonna go on and bench me like

I'm one of these-- I'm one of these fresh fish?

- You're welcome.

Grover, Milk, you're starting the game.

- Oh, hell yeah. - That's right.

- Say what, my nig?

- Damn, J. Guess we all can't be legends.

- Timeout.

Damn, Milk.

Guess we all can't be legends.

- It's okay, fellas. Let's just stand over here.

We may be down 30, but there is still hope.

It is time to run

Derek Lamar Fisher's patented circle offense.

- What's the circle offense, Coach?

- Form a circle around me.

Did I ever tell you about the time

the Fish saved the Lakers from certain doom

with only 0.4 seconds remaining to beat the San Antonio Spurs?

Nobody thought he could do it.

Not Phil. Not Shaq. Not Kobe's bitch ass.

So he willed himself to greatness.

- Come on now, Coach.

We got a game to play. Let's go.

- I'ma have to call all our timeouts, Ref.

This story has three minutes and 42 seconds remaining.

Now where was I?

Gary Payton was taking the ball out of bounds.

I was supposed to be setting a screen

for Mr. Kobe Bryant himself.

I did not feel like Kobe would be competent in making the shot.

- This nigga!

Y'all not listening. D-Fish's game plan

is to smash all the boo'd-up chicks in Chamberlain Heights.

That meat print is out there.

It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with.

It doesn't feel pity, and it won't stop, ever,

until you get fucked.

- Come on, Jamal. That sounds scandy.

D- Fish a good dude. - Good dude?

He did it to Matt Barnes. He did it to Coach Bundy.

Now he finna churn some Hunny!

Milk, your mom is next. Then Cindy.

- We gotta stop that mark.

There his car go. Sha-mon.

- Ah, it feel good.

- Yes--oh, goodness, oh!

Hunny likes her coffee. Oh!

- Yo, he giving my moms that meat print.

- Hard.

- Oh, it feel good, yes.

- So, uh, how long we just gonna stand here and watch this?

- Well, at least he using protection.

- What, he think my mom a ho or something?

Not on my watch.

Mom, what in the fuck? - Oh, Milton...

- Yo, fellas, fellas, what is happening here?

- Uh, did you--did you lose your house key again?

- All I needed was another 24 seconds,

and I would have drained my balls from deep.

- Shut your ass up, D-Fish. You ain't even have

the common courtesy to raw dog my mom.

You ain't shit, homey.

- Milton, get the hell out of here.

I was almost there. - Ew, Mom! Shit!

- Mrs. Milk, we just wanna tell you that

Coach Fish ain't who he say he is.

- See for yourself.

- You will return that to me immediately.

- We tellin' Principal Rivers the whole story.

- Fuck out of town, Dead Fish!

- Tighten it back up. I'll be back.

- On it.

- So are we breaking for lunch or...

- Oh, shit! He's gaining on us.

I can't run much longer. I didn't bring my sports bra.

- Mmm...fresh pussy.

- I'm so glad we waited to have sex

until after we were married. I can't wait to spend

the rest of our lives together--

- You're welcome.

- We can't have these breakdowns

if y'all wanna win the game, motherfuckers.

- Yo, is that Bundy coaching a team with no team?

- I'ma go holler at him right quick.

- Be careful, my nig.

Guaranteed he ain't brushed his teeth in a cool minute.

- Hey, Coach. It's me, Grover.

- Cummings! How many times I gotta tell you

to pass the ball? Come on, Montrel!

Get your head in the game, motherfucker!

- We need you back at Duncan, Coach.

D-Fish is ruining everything here.

Your breath and your coaching stink,

but at least you care. Come on back, Coach.

God damn, you stink.

- I got your text, Grover. What's the big emergency?

- We just found out Coach Fisher's shadier than Slim

when he's with Kim with no lights on in the gym.

both: Bars!

- Why you guys hating on Coach Fisher?

He's been nothing but a gentleman.

He says he's gonna introduce me to his friend,

Meat Print Papi. - No, you don't wanna meet him.

He's trying to terminate every chick in CH that's boo'd up.

It's my job to keep that booty safe.

- Yeah, he already broke up Coach Bundy's marriage

and remodeled Milk's mom's interior.

Let's just say she now has a basement and a storm shed.

And you next on the list.

- I bet he does this everywhere he goes.

Lakers, Knicks--shit, I heard by the time he left Utah,

the Jazz spelled their name with a "i".

- Ugh, that sick bastard.

How the hell do we get rid of him?

- Now I heard y'all was having a little issue with D-Fish.

I can help you with that. I used to hoop with Matt Barnes

back in the summers at the Drew League.

Now, Matt is one of the realest niggas on the planet.

Don't think he would mind

sending another message to D-Fish.

- How we gonna get in touch with Matt?

- Oh, I can holler, but that's gonna run you

half a hundred and a fifty...

In singles.

- Broke-ass nigs.

- Ah!

- Yo.

- Hey, yo, Matt. What's up?

It's 'Trelly from the Drew League.

Remember, we used to smoke blunts in the parking lot?

- Oh, my dude. What's cracking?

Aye, shut the fuck up!

I'm on the phone.

- Hey, Derek Fisher out here in Chamberlain Heights

talking major shit about you and your tattoos.

You need to handle that.

- Say what? I'm on my way.

- We need you, Coach.

- Nigga, we need you too. - We need you more.

- Crack. - Come on, Coach.

- Crack...

Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack- crack-crack-crack-crack.

- Let's bounce back.

"Black Holes" on three, two, one.

all: Black Holes!

- Grover, Milk, Jamal. - What you want, buster?

- You know what it is. Keep your mouth shut

or the next ass I get in is going to be yours.

- Fisher! - Matthew.

- I heard you was out here breaking the code.

Square up!

- You know the name of the game, Matthew.

These bitches are choosing. Quit being a simp.

- The time for talking is done, Derek.

Shoot the fade.

- Oh, shit. I knew our school was hood.

- Oh, shit. That nigga's a machine too?

Ah!

- Ah! - Matthew, how do my ass taste?

- Surprise, motherfucker.

- Bundy.

I'm glad that's over. - Nah, there's still one left.

I can't kill myself. - Why come, Matt?

Come on, tell me. - I don't wanna play

in Sacramento no more. Just kill me, Coach.

- Worldstar!

- Coach Bundy, I'm glad you're back.

You know I always believed in you.

- Yeah, whatever, nigga. Get your asses on the court!

We got a motherfucking game to play, fuck boys.

- Stop fouling, guys! Let's get this shit over with.

- Man, this some bullshit.

Don't Coach Bundy know if he gave us some burn,

we'd deliver some shine?

- Yeah, fuck Coach Bundy's seniority respecting,

always talking 'bout practice,

dedicated to the game ass bullshit.

- I heard what y'all said,

and I appreciate what you did for me,

so I'm gonna do you a solid. Hey, timeout, Ref!

- Come on, Coach, you tripping.

There's only five seconds left. Maybe next game.

- I'm trying to be nice to you motherfuckers!

Now get your ass in the game! Milk, come here.

- Man, what you want, dookie breath?

- I know we haven't seen eye to eye,

but I believe in you, boy.

So as soon as you get that ball, I want you to shoot it.

- Oh, for real? I got the green light?

- This your time, Milk.

I believe you can fly, motherfucker.

Air ball!

all: Air ball!

- Worldstar! Motherfucker.

- Got him!

Who's that?

Who's that little friend? - Feel good.

- Oh, I love it!

- Oh, yes! Oh, goodness, oh!

- I confirm, that feels very good.

- Yes, Hunny likes. Hunny likes her--

these are my friends. These are my friends.

- Ah, you like that?

- Ah!