Lyrics:
and drugs filling cereal bowls
A fleet of limousines idle lined in the lot
A penthouse with a helipad, a 50-foot yacht
A mansion in the Hamptons
Haaaaaa
(SYN shit n****)
Yeaaaa
(93Meexhie)
The underdog N****
(Fuck yo producer my beat is by Meexhie)
YeeeeaHH
The Money, The Ice, The Shine,
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
another knot
Keep your bank on swolle and your honey in the pot, bitch
Because I can back it I can't help but talk shit
Feeling like 50 Cent when he
baby
Uh, come on y'all
It's still y'all same old dawg
Surviving Sickle Cell like bullets to the jaw
Fifty Cent power, for this shit I should get paid by
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
am I in a dream
If she sold her product on the street probably be name supreme
Fifty cent make two quarters that's five dimes where is she
Women out
but fifty cents in yo pocket
Don't know what to spend it on, hoping you don't drop it
Like a bad habit, spending on what you want
Not on what you need,
body's stiff
By the same niggas you used to party with
Hands up shorty when you party with me, we goin' way past quarter to three (I said Hands Up!)
brown, stick around"
"But as you black, oh brother, get back get back get back"
Me and a man was workin' side by side
This is what it meant
They was
Yea
Bou
Aye
Ain't no way I can lose bitch
I went from hopping the gate at the station to hoppin out new shit
Don't need your two cents
I took a risk
New York City
You are now rocking, with 50 Cent
You gotta love it
I just wanna chill and twist the lah
Catch stunts in my 7-45
You drive me
as a light tan
With plastic faces and rubber hands
Fuck fame, I shoot a hole in a 50 cent piece to test my aim
How dare you call the Gods in vain
Not
as a light tan
With plastic faces and rubber hands
Fuck fame, I shoot a hole in a 50 cent piece to test my aim
How dare you call the Gods in vain
Not
I throw my 2 cents in
Well make it 5 percent then
If black man is God then
The ghetto must be heaven under fire
Holy war against the races
I need you to believe
Even though I wasn't there, I never chose to leave
The problem is that I don't even know where to begin
Because I don't even
family good some days, yeah
Remember havin' 50 cent to my name for lunch
A quarter juice and some hot flames
We was sittin' on the couch watchin' He
envy
You say you got money nigga really
I bring them racks in by the plenty
You broke as fuck don't got a penny
Don't need yo two cents
You wasn't
leaning on the fence
Tryin' to make a dollar out of fifteen cents
Really is a prankster, tried to be a gangster
Real big wheel when a gun is in his hands
a send a text, shawty we on Cinemax
Feelin' like I'm in a scope (interscope)
Fuck the aftermath, we sent(cent) 50 at his cantaloupe
Made it thru the rain,
to the grave where you noticed I was gay uh huh, uh huh
An ice cream truck
Drives my way by
Popsickle sticks for 50 cents man
My mouth is blue
I lost my keys
and get your head cracked for that
You gettin' money nigga (yeah), you dimed out (yeah)
Well 50 Cent is the hottest shit out this (yeah)
You bust your
rap songs
And I ain't blaming 50 Cent, I can't blame T.I.P or JEEZY
Them brothers just making plenty paper off their life stories
See me, myself, I try
years away from when they say
The world's expected to end
And I ain't even begin
That's more ironic than a bum asking
For 50 Cent from "Many Men", one
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