Lyrics:
[Lloyd Banks]
I need the cake nigga
G-Unit dont play
we rap but we strapped
Buck got the shotgun
50 got the mack
Spida got the streeper
and u bound
(G-G-G-G-G-Unit)
Everything 'bout you so gangsta
Oh, you just so gangsta ooh, so gangsta
What up, gangsta
My baby you know I'm lovin' your style
fifty cents
The ghetto got me crazy, I smell daisies
But I can't die tonight my old lady's pregnant with a baby
Tupac said there's a heaven foe a G
But I
what your up to do girl
I'm after my cheddar
I gave you your style Gucci this Fendi that
Burberry bag shoes and the hat to match
I like the way it
buggin
Straight up and down we run the underground like H. Tubman
What, I'm the bomb bitch
nigga RAH
D-I-G got Rah
God be my
Witness
Long as I walk
what your up to do girl
I'm after my cheddar
I gave you your style Gucci this Fendi that
Burberry bag shoes and the hat to match
I like the way it
Nails (where)
In my eyelids now (what), I'm seein' diamond sales
Like I'm in Zales (yeah)
Without a doubt, by any means, if rap was skinny jeans
I
[50 Cent]
ay , yo we can't stay alive forever,
so if the shit hits tha fan then we might as well die together, im hi as ever, more hoe's and more
to tell them I ended up as a co-parent
Always promised the family unit
I wanted it to be different because I've been through it
But this is the harsh
of good guys, 50 Cent is the villain
I play the bar with eight bottles all night getting right
Teaching the hoodrats what Cristal taste like
I put 60
[50 Cent]
Yeah, F-50
[Chorus - 50 Cent]
As times go by, I twist a lot
Fuck with me and my niggas, somebody gonna die
You think I'm all poinry, cause
G.G.G.G.G-Unit
Lloyd Banks, D Da Ghost
this twin don't unda-stand,
(D Da Ghost)
shortie I ain't a pretty-boy,ma-mi I am a thug,
but she does not
wanna divide the yam like it equate the math?
That shit don't add up, you're making them mad as fuck
She said she came out here to find an A-list rapper
nothin' but love
Hosted by the ladies who lookin' for somethin' to rub
When we roll out, we roll on dubs, rollin' up bud
The Theodore Unit, we
put that on my kid
And my trust, yeah, it is what it is (oh, oh)
And I'm outside (ah-ah, ah-ah), twenty-nine, G5 (ah-ah, ah-ah), seaside
I've been
Breeze through in the Q, .45 by my side, lyrical high
And those that rushes my clutches get put on crutches
Get smoked like Dutches from the master
Hate
This is that Porche GT shit
That Baltimore G shit
That body bag, dope fiend dead off OD shit
Fish scale cookin' I'm Chef-Boyar-50
I get my hands on that
rehabilitation
'Cause look at the motherf***in years that I'm facin
I'm a end it like this cause you know what's up
My life is f***ed
man's loyal
Better give that man a raise your end up paying for it
If you cut it, call it Jam Master Jay
No Adidas but I rock a brick a day
Talk about
(50 Cent) G-Unit! Ha Ha! 50 Cent Hook: If some shots may happen to go off tonight Don't worry about me I be aight Niggaz could waiste ammo firin
just what to do to get 'em loose
Fuck you know 'bout bustin' down a brick?
Your main ho always think that you around a bitch
Picked up a pack and I
your way
It's been a long time
Long time long time
[Verse]
[Black Thought]
Struck by the luck of the draw
Real life preservation
What I'm hustling for
gon' roll up in the club with, then report that next week (uh)
Just wanna see who I am or
Sniffing some coke
I know by the time I finish this line
the mix and all that shit)
Knamsayin, word up (Make it make it a record real quick, do yo' thang)
Throw ya seatbelts on, ahhight?
(Yeah, hook it up
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