Lyrics:
all right, but he's not ill!"
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
You might see me yawnin', four in the mornin'
But the party ain't over
Then it's back to the crib,
They shoot craps, I shoot first
No shoot backs
Facebook got you feeling relevant
In real life, you just a bitch
And you was never
30 clips, lot of 30
haze out the jar
Rick Ross, I'm the best in the flesh
Getting blessed on the ?, it's a way to reflect
Hard work pays off, I'm a boss, you can tell
By
with Young Maxo, we be on some hood shit
I just took what you spent on your crib and put it on my wrist
I just took my girl and introduced her
French frames in dreams
At the city I can't escape
50 Cent, Darkchild, So Plush
Girl, I wait for your lovin'
There is no rush, what
That's how Darkchild
cuff me, I'm sippin 2-11
Bout to plan a 211, murder your partner and put you in heaven
Lucky number 667, I mean 666
I got six clips to the fuckin'
bitch
Any hood you go through they know 50 Cent
(And I don't wanna talk about it, oh)
I'm makin' millions quick and I don't wan' talk about it
Nah,
You can tell by the way I walk that I got 'em
Bail any girl that I wanna
Got bitches 'n marijuana
I can tell by the way you move that you a problem
let them talk when
My goons get hellish
The only way they talk is with a full clip
You 'gon make them boys dump
You 'gon make them boys slump
(Chump I
do,
I could be a good connect for you, okay, okay (50 Cent!)
Look bitch, he can't treat you the way I do,
Now lay back, Maybach '62, okay, okay
[Tony Yayo]
New Shit
Tony Yayo, 50 Cent c'mon
[HOOK: 50 Cent]
Bump Dat
Niggas try to stunt on my click
Then when I get on that shit
I bring it
might get fooled if you come from out of town
But I'm down by law, and I know my way around
Down in the Village, you might think I'm silly
But you
on liquor
I give a fuck about excuses for a shitty friend
50 Cent wit' a gauge hunted by many men
R.I.P. to my love in remembrance For yo' fake smile ten
supposed to be
If I want you dead, then you dead
It's no controlling me
40 clip, 30 clip, 50 clip
Yeah, I got a whole lot of guns, nigga
Pull up, what's
or the Lex or the Benz
116th by the hour from the Africans
But they won't let you push 'em
One tried to get fly I almost had to mush him
If I wanted to rob
again
and pull another left hand
fifty shots to win
i can't lose its impossible
plus i got a chopper fifty shots about to droppin' you
i be 'bout
That ain't me talking, that's your mind playing tricks on you
You conscious 'cause you know you got nines with two clips on you
But fuck that,
the shooter
[Verse One: 50 Cent]
I'll bang out, I'll, I'll, I'll bang out
Find out shit is real when I'm at you with that thang out
Cause all kind of commotion
Food on the plate for the wolves, follow wolves
Don't get moved by the tools
Blood will ooze on ya shoes wait, control ya hate
You ain't ridin' in
the Chosen one
By the way she acting yeah, she can be my hun
Like fifty cent you wanna be best friend
If relation will you be my rider to the end
Confessions
getting bitches and they come in by the two
Only nigga in here asking questions, see only real question, nigga who is you
I ain't worried 'bout it, now
50 cent days
I might split your wig and send it to your mama three ways
You gon do what? To who, me?
I hope you just playing
Cuz I might uber a drive
of nothing, what up 5?
Bag full of every president that ever died
Yea, spraying everything that's in the way
We eating over here extended clips, 50 plates
It's
what you need (one two)
it's all fucked up now
what the fuck yall gon do now
(50 Cent)
Yo
Yo we can't stay alive forever
So if shit hit the fan
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