Lyrics:
Yeah I just need like 50 plans
Spent my last like 50 cents
I window shopped like 50 cent
That bitch she right
Ray Bandz on my face I got
high, hands up high
[VERSE 1: 50 CENT]
You wanna dance lets dance nigga ill take you to da prom
I'm armed tre pound in my palm I'm calm
Nigga my mamma
Ludacris, ya boy was doin' this
Before Snoop Dogg, I put rabbits in the morgue
Before Dr. Dre, I was out in L.A.
Before 50 Cent, I was sittin' on Enz
When
catch a body and talk to God
My role model brought my head up at thirteen, 50 Cent taught me how to rob
And then my mom moved me to Florida to finish
Count racks by the 50’s you with me or not?
Got no time for no iffy’s sticky situations
Cuz I been in the lab
I’m a dog in the basement
Sack tap for
boy's goin' left on niggas
And them hoes too it's me
That nigga who ain't never got caught
My mic is wounded
I'ma test it with a touch of salt
Keep a book
an example by an ex-trapper
Dress the coupe in the shoes, now that's dapper
Ain't nothin' but the street life
That's money, cars and hoes
It's the only
at the zoo, cause the trenches had grabbed me
50 cents for chips, 2 for a dollar, break a bag, not stingy
She got a cute face, I compliment, bet I be in her
dope
You fin' to lose when dope
Fiends cut ya fuckin throat
You see my shit is legit, so it's on
Cut a fifty cent slab
And tell that bitch to get gone
that's a big black bug,
Got your 50 cent fortune tucked under your rug.
You got your zoot suit body bag ready to blast off.
I'm in a milk crate by your
is bent
Count up every cent
You want money
It get honey
Don't get bitchy
That's suspicious
I wanna do what I wanna do
But ma's rent don't get paid by
And nigga, you can't play wit my yo yo
She keep a fo-fo and the H2
Sittin' on low pros, whooaa
And 50 know, she roll with 50 hoes
And keep them sticky dro
and that's a big black bug
Got your 50 cent fortune tucked under your rug
You got your zoot suit body bag ready to blast off
I'm in a milk crate by your
get respect
I should get sign by Nike kus I done ran me up a check
Most of ya guys ya broke
Most of these hoes a joke yeah yeah
Most my friends they
All these hoes call me their father, issues, I won't bring no tissues
When I'm in the club, like 50 Cent, they call me Pimp
I won't spend a single buck
keep it real with my hustler hoes
I got a, pump or two, who gon' boost them clothes
I gotta get mine, girl you gotta get yours
(I gotta get mine,
I'm so lonesome I could cry.
King of the Road
(Roger Miller)
Trailer for sale or rent
Rooms to left fifty cents
No phone, no poolm no pets
I ain't got
made it legal (wow)
Higher than an eagle, leanin' like Beanie Sigel (I'm leanin')
Flyer than a pilot, jean jacket by Diesel (phew)
All-gold rocket,
the lob
She eat dick corn on the cob
Did his bid got hit with fraud
Nigga diss know how that end
Save her name as 50 Cent lil bitch got hit by many men
Oh
"G-Unit"
There's no competition, it's just me
50 Cent, motherfucker, I'm hot on these streets
If David could go against Goliath with a stone
I can go
Play O-Dog in Menace and drive-by men
Real gangsters keep a bitch in the wheel, workin' the gas tank
Hoes on the strip, bringin' that cash in
Think
Yea
Lloyd Banks, Tony Yayo
Yea
Niggas salute me
Uh huh
We takin over this shit
(50 Cent)
Yo
G Unit
G Unit soldiers
(gun cocks)
the jewelry lookin sicker, the
Coup on them thangs got her panties droppin quicker, got
50-11 hoes, wit 50-11 tats, got
50-11 niggas strapped wit 50-11 gats,
Yeah! 50 Cent, Lloyd Banks, Young Buck
G G G G G-Unit! Haha!
Vacate your home I come to brake your bones
Americas nightmare we at it again
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