Lyrics:
I mean 50 he a grimy n****
Think he shot my brother I'ma find that n****
We don't see his punk a** unless he on TV
Yeah, he did my brother dirty
shades of... pain (Aye, aye, aye)
We call that, 50 shades of...pain
(What goes around, comes around, & then back around)
That's 50 shades of... pain
you ever loved how come our baby looks just like Tim
Just asking questions I don't mean to pry
You got all the answers so baby just tell me why
If I'm
(Woo) , came up off them Snack Packs
50-cent for Shastas
Itchy blop' up in the backpack
Little Caesar Hot-N-Ready box
We had to have that
Made us heavy
for the night my baby and me
We switched 'round and 'round
'til half past dawn:
There was fifty-seven channels and nothin' on
Fifty-seven channels
Trolling for the power bitch I feel like 50 cent hated on by many men
Tryna build an empire but I ain't one of lucious kids
Small City nigga Chris Wallace
but I got it like this, anything I want imma get, get or die trying 50 cent, little money that I spent for her to let me come up on her tits, I promise
Locked up, mama couldn't get me out (huh?)
Called my nigga Bookie, he got me out (come on)
Kk got my back, ain't no doubt
Player made, free my bro, let
I got this game on lock yo jogging up the block for a 50 cent taco
Knock yo ass out the box so quick
You better check yo bitches purse I think she got
No cent to my name like 50
Been keeping busy tryna stack a billi
Niggas talk a lot they ain't fucking with me
New York City, my city litty
If I can
done
Like if we ain't give a fuck about it
Tryna pull a 50 cent, get rich or die tryin
Be my love, baby, I'll be the illest nigga life for you
Like these
the dooch powder
Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill
Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill
Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill
Two choices,
Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill
Stay fly 'til you air sick, now that's ill
Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real
What
in Hollywood cause I remember when I had 50 Cent, up In Da Club
All my life I knew I was major, I don't need no major
I don't even write rhymes, I
New York City (New York City)
You are now rackin' with 50 Cent
(with 50 Cent) are you ready?
(are you ready?
Gun cocks) I said are you ready?
(are
hash tagging getting mad love
I asked her how you think we gonna baby
By getting famous offa flashing all your pearl baby
She told me chill they love
then you turned into my foe
By my side when we road running
Down to ride that ain't no question
Hit the stu that's a closed session
The get back crew
Smirnoff, baby)
We not drinkin' the Smirnoff tonight (Not tonight, why'all chill!)
None of that shit, man (Grimey ass niggas!)
Put the 50 cent beer away
back
What the fuck is 50 cent is what Jigga said
Look at yourself
Even now I'm diggin up the dead
Get some help, all you had left was 1 buck
You lost
fuckin' lane, nigga
You fuckin' with a Don Nigga
Follow me
[chorus]
50, meet 50
He's the fakest thug you ever seen
Curtis, Curtis Jackson
How come you can
If these niggas be outside trust they gettin' hit
Keep it 100 with u pop your ass for 50 cent
I'm tryna shake up on da game remember 50 cent
All
Fifty two eighty
And I'm flying high
Baby can we touch the sky
I'm in fifty two eighty
It's two am on most Denver nights
I'm in fifty two eighty
(Mary)
M-J, 50 Cent, G-Unit
This is simple
I feel you understand
Another man
Can't quite
Love you girl (yeah a little louder) like I can
Your
baby, don't forget that boy told you
Get, that, dirt off your shoulder
I probably owe it to y'all, probably be locked by the force
Tryin' to hustle
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