Lyrics:
Street IPA, Trader Joses, still no cans
Hey Joe, I’m still a fan of two dollar salad bags
Killer mixes romaine and spinach, salads ridic delicious
Lunch
wit many, Niggaz be switching they so 50/50 so I got the semi (Bloouu) Top of the hill by the ossay, Traffic come in and out both ways, Got it all off
to the wind trying to know down these pins
He'll keep swinging from the hair above his chin
Till he finds his soul in the fifty cent bin
The price
fuckin fifty deep
But they be fuckin cowards when they by theyselves
You know who I'm talkin about
(You know who I'm talkin about) that's right
You ain't
fifty deep
But they be fuckin' cowards when they by they selves
You know who I'm talkin' about
(You know who I'm talkin' about)
That's right, you
first time in jail nigga gone need some friends
By the way youngster what's your name
You can call me killer on the streets its the dopeman
Icey boys, and we still tote Uzis
It's about money, it ain't never 'bout music
Yeah, he from the streets
But he still ain't Gucci
Hunnid bottles
Uh
Oh yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Oh yeah
Oh yeah, uh
They say ty your music hard how you made that
I ain't even know you rapped you so laid back
Ima rap
we're rough in it
When you're sweet
In the street
And I fall for it
Make me feel I can't keep up
Before you take a hint
And you say that you'll change
through
I'll never stop playing old fifties love songs, cause I'll never stop missing you
Missing you, missing you
As I watch the time go by, these tired
Get rich or die trying, got me feeling like I'm 50
Bitch, we got it all, you want that Bobby or that Whitney
Bitch, I'm riding with my blicky, you
Christmas
But until you know I be on grinch shit
Living isolated probably plotting on a victim
Fuck you and your gifts bitch
I got 50 cents left
Imma die
disrespectful
Y'all know I don't care 'bout these niggas
Happy New Year
Tekashi got snatched by the feds, he done
I'm like, "Damn, why they doin' that to 50
I go by the name of Kel Mitchell!
And this is TeamBackPack! Let's go!
Yo, I'm so '96, back and on my grimy shit
Nigga get -whoever they'll sign me
Four or five niggas in a mothership
Better known as a deuce and we all wanna smother shit
Bent, front and back glass got tint
Tryin' to get our
go out like the last bitch!
Heh, five-oh's on my ass main
They know me by the face, but they don't know my last name
Now I'm back on the case
I came up
Everything I got can't fill out the mud
I hide my heart streets show no love
So I can't show none either
I'm solo, can't let no one think
Really I just want the bag I know imma find a way
It ain't just for the cash it's so I can build the team
Get rich or die tryin' spit that 50 like
about a dolla ya you know I got bucks wit me
Used to window shop up at the mall wit cents 50
But Now I stunt hard have the whole hood fuck wit me
Like
prosper
Manoeuvre like I'm Bruce Lee, ya know I'm chucks
Been doing this since a young buck
Banging for fifty cent from a victim, while my gun talk
schmuggeln
Mit Familienkreisprotection, sie wollen street sein in Texten
Doch hatten nie eine Action, um das im Reallife zu betten
Seit wann machen diese
on punishment
But not for long
Ya ass better be back at home before the streets lights come on
Riding the bike with no hands just for show
And somebody gonna ask
this bullshit that we call the streets
You know? What can I say? Hip Hops been good to a nigga
I got mad love for the East coast, West coast, North
(Zaytoven)
Trap down the street from Phillips Arena
Trap down the street from Phillips Arena
(And that cool with me, I'm fine with that, things
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