Lyrics:
heres my dick for your mouth fit it all
Imma text message your a lose call
I wouldn't poke you with a pool ball attached to the cue
I throw 50cent at this
needin' your two cents and all your vents
Fakin' a kidnappin' for your OnlyFans
And tryna front like missin' kids was your intent
If that's the type
Cuurtis, uh, rewind it DJ
Cuurtis, you ain't 50, 50 Cent's from BK
Cuurtis, yep, he deserve to be nervous
Cuurtis, damn, show some courtesy Curtis
(Repeat)
the Curtis, what the fuck is a Curtis? My nigga that's a fifty
Motherfuck yo dress code
And I ain't taking off my hat 'cause I'm in chill mode
And I could
other man
By then I could of made a 100 grand.
I gotta stick to the money plan
I'm allergic to bullshit
I'm attracted to blue strips
Don't let me
Keep it bottled up like this fifth of gin
Deadly with the pen let me fill you in
Make these 50 cents turn to M and M's
Double million, triple million
brothers if you think that I'm a cynic
A War for hearts and minds we're never gonna win it
Feels like it's been a day but it's only been a minute
50 of my
50 Cent
Numbers on that Larry June flow, got crypto by the load
If we talking 'bout myself? I never sold when it got low
Every fucking song I got bang
a little nigga by the name of Chris
Nobody paid him any mind, no one gave a shit (ahh)
Knowing he could rap, no one lent a hand
So he went about his
a little nigga by the name of Chris
Nobody paid him any mind, no one gave a shit (ahh)
Knowing he could rap, no one lent a hand
So he went about his
just got to roll with
I got power like I'm 50 Cent yeah bitch I own it
Tell them get in line for this position if they want it
Position now if they want
[50 Cent]
It ain't good to good in front of niggas in the hood, right.
It ain't good to good in front of niggas in the hood, right.
Everybody know
every dollar a man makes a woman makes 63 cents.
Now, fifty years ago that was 62 cents.
So, with that kind of luck, it'll be the year 3,888 before we
a dummy check, like run me that
Ion do man bags, put 50 on a moneypak
You walkin, tellin high school stories of being a running back
And I ain't tryin
come get me
If you, if you want it, come get me
[50 Cent]
Nigga, you violate, I regulate, rat-tat-tat
Bigger shells - they fit in that banana clip
Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks,
Official Lost Boyz since the year of '86
And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with a passion
At times
of the head
Cos when I'm through with you
You gonna wish you were dead
And I won't say sorry for what I have said
No apologies nigga
I don't give a shit
And if
trying to find
Where you're farming
Squash his melon (squash it, squash it)
Crush his skull
Boot his face me thinks im'a dead him
See 5-0, foot down
die trying
By any means like 50 Cent
Try to rob me he a idiot
Smoke a big nigga on some skinny shit
Hop out the car or stay in that bitch
Either way do
is what Bourne said
And if you was born around that time
You was born dead
The Espionage Act had people confused
'Cause it was double talk
And they
dead
(Wait, wait)
Wait
Deadweight
Y'all tried man y'all tried
(Ugh)
But I'm sick and tired of y'all tryin
(Yeah)
I am the law and that's final
(Ugh)
by the end of the year
And I still gotta deal with the 5-0
And I stopped sellin' dope in 9-0
But if I came to it
I probably still do it
Put
pull a fast one
Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion
Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion
Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be
broke he don't 50 cent
I don't care what it cost if I want it I spend
Yea she got a man bet she fuck me again
My cup so dark hope it don't get lynched
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