Lyrics:
to the D Boys (drug dealas)
Neighborhood dope man
I mean real niggas
Thata make a dolla out a fifteen cents
Ain't got a dime, but I rides
motherfuckers musta took a photo
Tryin to call my gangsta shit 'mafioso'
but who ya usin? Fool it ain't no solution
to the evolution, of pimps and prostitution
[Pimp C]
Hold up (Hold Up), we jammin'
I can't let nobody hold me down-these ho's could never hold me (never hold me)
Cause I'm comin' down,
He gonna give you all his love
He gonna give you all his time
He won't let a minute go by
Without the thought of you crossing his mind
I be like fuck
teach the kids, you rather have a bullet or a word to your wig
Murder rates increases, bullet holes the size of fifty cent pieces
Don't worry about
when I'm low balling by by
Yo forget these problems
And baby role with me
If ya need some sugar
I'll be ya PIMP
Just keep it fly girl
And stay close
E-e-enima, you can call the hippo
J'pimp dans l'appart à Béatrice
Les dollars rentrent j'oublie la crise
Fais à ta guise, mais assume tout
-twelve two-bit room
I'm a man of means, by no means
King of the road
[Chorus:]
Trailers for sale or rent
Rooms to let, fifty cents
No cars, no pool, no
Trailers for sale or rent
Rooms to let...fifty cents.
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes
Ah, but..two hours of pushin' broom
Buys
[Pimp C]
Hold up (Hold Up), we jammin'
I can't let nobody hold me down-these ho's could never hold me (never hold me)
Cause I'm comin' down,
baby, here it is
Pimp and show, light, easy but it's all I can give
Let a playa get his freak on 'cause you're bringin' out the freak in me
Hurry up
cracker a day (what? Oh shit)
Girl, well, I heard the bitch was married to Tim
And started fucking with Trina
Well, I heard the bitch got hit by three
cracker a day (what? Oh shit)
Girl, well, I heard the bitch was married to Tim
And started fucking with Trina
Well, I heard the bitch got hit by three
a throat deep enough to land a missile
If ya nigga miss you and he have opinions
Tell him two cents is only half a nickel
Now we at his villa, aiming
And knowing that homeless child was in
The same position I was
Shit, but still it's wrapped up in plastic
My niggas ride by smoking, waving at traffic
But I
Ugh
Ugh
No name
Ugh
Ugh
Count it
Tens
Twenties
Fifties
Hundreds
Flexing
Sauce
Dripping
Stunting
Diamonds
Dancing
Twerking
Something
Pop it
Bitch
whatever outside and you know what I'm sitting on
fifty fifty venture with them S dots kicking off
Armadale popping now, only bring a n**** more
Only
Leavin' semen in they British faces
Make'em kiss they partners with it in they faces
Young pimpin' sprung women 'cross the 50 states
Got young ladies
todavía son erráticos
Wisin y yandel!
The warriors jajaja
T-pain
Victor "el nasi", "nesty"
W yandel
En conexión con 50 cent
Y todavía se atreven decir que
the dollars sweat for the cents
All when you live for the dead presidents
Verse 2:
You can judge society by who they forgive
By who they let die and by who
gotta die, I'd rather homicide
I ain't have fifty cent when my grandmama died
Now I'm goin' back to Cali with my Jacob on, see how time fly?
Hate it
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
the sky tryin' to blast sun
Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one
Fifty cent flashin' they hate us with a passion
Mashin', still fresh in three-day
99 cents
Bag it, poppin' it, washin' it, 'bout to go and get some compliments
Passing up on those moccasins someone else has been walking in
Bummy
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