Lyrics:
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
to let, 50 cents
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes
Two hours of push broom
Buys a eight by 12 four-bit room
I'm a man of means, by no
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
Trailer for sale or rent rooms to left fifty cents
No phone no pool no pets I ain't got no cigarettes
Ah but two hours of pushing broom buys
to see, Yates
How in the hell can you miss me
When I'm counting my mil' making hist'ry
Trip the splits be that 50/50
So we rip the script swiftly and zip
these babes
They gotta stop crying, you know
(Dre, 50 Cent) with crying
And screaming babies sold out, bitch
These motherfuckers are making
Me
a man by the name of Gray
Flour was fifty cents for a twenty four pound bag
Now it's a dollar and a half beside
Just like a skinnin' off a flea for
Hey, hey, we keeping it real, samba baby
[Chorus]
If you need love I'm loving, if you need a thug I'm thugging, if you need a hustla,
Whatever
do one more game of counting by fives on our fingers
This is a long one, keep going
Get set, ready, go
5, 10, 15, 20
25, 30, 35, 40
45, 50, 55,
Four or five niggas in a mothership
Better known as a deuce and we all wanna smother shit
Bent, front and back glass got tint
Tryin' to get our
them up cent by cent
I started with a quarter
It was worth twenty-five cents
Each dime was worth ten
So I added both of them
Got thirty-five, forty-five
Well easy
Well ya done know so we make it on a cheesy
Sean-a-peesy, the girls are over breezy
Longside the 50 Cent, yo
Now some bwoy like dem take
is getting hectic by making em wrong moves
Take a puff or two when your detective got no clue
On a real it's not the better way for you to act a fool
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
this lint like a slave
And 20 cent to my name, tryna make this crime pay
Money spent, Ben gone, left me with the Hamil-ton
Window tint, same ol' song
"This is for the real niggas"
Yo, hard beats like this keep my mentality raw
I G off C 4 lyrics to blow off them Lex door
My tex-ture be the kind
"This is for the real niggas"
Yo, hard beats like this keep my mentality raw
I G off C 4 lyrics to blow off them Lex door
My tex-ture be
and Prince was the killer
Remember, he used to push the bulletproof BM, uh huh
This here get ya seasick, I sat back and peeped shit
The roll with Easy Rider
when you see me you then already know.
It’s on my hat, you can tell by the clothes
It’s in my talk, so It’s in my flow.
It’s in my talk, so It’s in my
"Two-thousand-four, yeah L, whattup?"
"Prophesy"
"Yeah"
"It's prophesy baby"
Disciple, disciple (what?) disciple (street's)
Disciple
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
at Mcdonald's
Rob's Railroad for four dollars and twenty cents an hour I was like
"Who the fuck do this shit? This is wacker than a motherfucker"
This what
[50 Cent:]
Yeeh...
I'm'a Soldier, I Done Told Ya, Don't Make Me Fuck You Up
Leave You Head Bust, I'm'a Head Busta, Man I Don't Give A Fuck
I'm'a
rapper tryin' to mimic him
And that's what really rose up out of Michigan,
The sign of white rapper by the name of 50 Cent, ha!
You would never know
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