Lyrics:
(Goddamn, BJ with another one)
(Trell's on the track)
I'm on Mars right now, oh, oh, oh
It's a real nigga 101, oh, oh, oh
Look
Ay, coupe me
some more to leave behind And yet I was a cent-less pauper in distress I can, feel the very presence of your love here And yet you've given me eternal
with Donald Trump (oh)
I don't take nothin' too personal, play 50 Cent, I'ma Kurtis Blow
Gold grill and a greasy 'fro, no peace to the PDO
I like
and sweet like cinnamon
But everyday like 50 Cent, yes, many men
They wanna take me out the spot, they want the pussy and the ends
But separate the paper
Here comes that guy in his stripped down Model A
And he says, ?Gimme 50 cents worth of regular
Check my oil too, if you don't mind
Put some air in my
love me, from the bleachers they screamin'
All the ballers is bouncin' they like the way I be leanin'
All the rappers be hatin', off the track that I'm
what was comin'
I should've been runnin'
F-F-Fifty per cent
Just to pay her rent
Just found out
Love steers you wrong
Love costs you plenty
Save your
what you say about me
Broke nigga two cents don't matter
Give a fuck what you say about me
Broke bitch two cents don't matter
It doesn't matter, it
Yo Redd Spyder (ooh-wee)
Is that 50 Cent/Pac joint ready?
Let me know, holla
There's gon' be some stuff you gon' see
That's gon' make it hard
on
You say
Nobody in this world could love me like you
Baby i say
You're talkin' kinda good but I
Think you better show me then you do
Something just
don't need me
You've got a vending machine love, kind words are $1.25
50 cents will get you a smile and maybe a goodbye
You've got a vending machine
DJ Whoo Kid:Yea (?) Lloyd Banks 50 Cent G-Unit Here We Go you should be here wit me bitch, you should come and make me rich, girl you know girl you
and you doin' me
I ain't talkin 'bout a seventy thirty, no way, no way
Or a sixty forty, uh, uh, uh, uh
Talkin 'bout a fifty fifty, when the room is empty
It's 50 Cent starring as Game
It's autobiographical
I hope you enjoy yourself
50 callin me crazy, I might be just maybe
I'm gangsta, I'm crippin', Damu,
I had a hand me down ride painted rattle can red
Second hand tires with poor boy tread
Made a lot of almost love in the bed of that
Truck that got
chance will you give me, but Fry Street
That's where I'll be
Getting my .50 cent shots
Dollar beers and college babes
Fuck I love North Texas a lot
But
Yo yo
I need no introduction everybody
Heard of 50 Cent and heard of G-Unit
I'm not high tech and I'm not qualy
You see me in the club
You
two weeks been busy, I'm movin' in
I told my mom look out her window to another Benz
She took nine shots of Patron, 50 Cent
I bent the corner
Yeah (wha-, yeah, yeah, yeah)
It's 50 Cent (wha-) and S-N-double-O-P (wha-wha-wha-what?)
You don't want it with Snoop and you don't want it with me
I’m the man, I love bubbling, shorty
Bet you got ya hands all, all over me
No-one will believe
Get you high as Nasa, careful with ya asses
I only
Yeah (wha-, yeah, yeah, yeah)
It's 50 Cent (wha-) and S-N-double-O-P (wha-wha-wha-what?)
You don't want it with Snoop and you don't want it with me
crads, sent her rap message through a bottle
Lines from Dolomite, few tips from Goin's
Birthday, gave her two fifty-cent coins
Puppy love, gorgeous
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
I got the magic stick
I know if I can hit once, I can hit twice
I hit the baddest chicks
Shorty don't believe me, then come with me
six-foot-three
Everybody says she's better looking than me
What can I say, I guess I'm only lucky in love
Lord it helps pass time when you're waiting on Heaven
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