Lyrics:
rocks like a fifty cent piece from Terror's twenty
Aimed at your Bentley son
Number one when my shard be blast
Mix with hash, made your heart beat fast
Saw a man about fifty or so
Saw a man about fifty or so
He looked lonely but his eyes were bright
He looked lonely but his eyes were bright
He
to save it
When you older I explain it
These niggas ain't really wavy
They copy and follow trends
I ain't have 50 cent
Now I'm hated by many men
Hot boxes
the road with 50 cent
Kidd you still not rich?
But I'mma serve these dimes 'til
I pit that brick
If my life was a disc I'd skip that shit?
Nigga, roaches
the road with 50 cent
Kidd you still not rich?
But I'mma serve these dimes 'til
I hit that brick
If my life was a disc I'd skip that shit?
Nigga, roaches
And a brick all these red rubies
If he bigger go pick up a
Stick with a 50 clip and I ain’t 50 cent
Get you killed for like 50 packs
She assuming so she bet her
about me
Niggaz know, ain't nothing sweet about me
Get back to questions, like "50, who shot ya?...
You think it was Preme, Freeze or Tah, Tah?"
Nigga,
them I needed help
I did I did
Nobody reached out so I did it by myself
The same ones that turn their backs on you criticize
When I called my plug he
part of it is me being in the
Studio all of the time and you know
A huge passion of mine is to be able to
Take it to the streets
Getting that sort
cent
I haven't died yet so I must be gettin rich
Aye let the church say amen
Because even if I'm judged by 12 Lord love me so there's no saving them
Brick by brick from the dust dirt and the grime
They don't give a fuck about us, dying in the streets
Mommy crying on the pavement with no meal to eat
like I'm 50 Cent right now cause many men wish death 'pon me
And them girls they slept on me but right now they're tryna get their heads off me
And,
a nigga blowed
Had to walk around like I'm 50 Cent
20 chains on me, 50 thousand cash all on me
Momma said I'm a walkin' lick
But I don't give a shit they
mama acting like she don't know shit she just want some new saleen
My trap hitting
Selling dubs and fiftys
Got the reeper with me
Street sweeper with
[Hook: 50 Cent]
Yeah
Nigga you so tough
Tough until your heartbeat stop
The tre pound pop, your arteries shot
You bleed into shock, get in
(Oh, the wine cooler)
Johnny Ryall is the bum on my stoop
I gave him fifty cents to buy some soup
He knows the time with the fresh Gucci watch
every zone
Yeah 1 through 6
Nigga don’t you swing my door
For less than a brick
I got more power in the street than 50 Cent
(50) if I was on molly still
Yo, I wake up and I hear the streets callin'
Nobody's safe no more (nobody's safe no more)
I'm cut from a cloth that they don't make no more (that
I'm a gangsta my nigga from
My head to my feet
Every since I was a youngin I
Been livin in the street
Keep it movin you don't wanna
Get into it with
talk
Sticking to the fucking plan
You’ll never know the plan
Go and ask your bitch like 50 cent she knowing I’m the man
Ian gone lie it get hard
What you think you really need in these streets that make you bleed?
Everybody working on a daily basis
It's crazy how we could work for payment
Premeditated plan of attack, with two of your most deadliest mens in the back
Comb the block, stop in the zone that's hot
Get out like you own the spot, home
barrel by, too gun shy to hitch a ride
Got two quarters and a dime, cup of coffee costs a buck
Fifty cents to place a call, payphone's ripped right out
in New York City fifty cents elsewhere
It makes no goddamn sense at all
America's oldest continuously published daily piece of bullshit
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