Lyrics:
my main don't Act Right
Nothing to something
That's the whole goal of the shit
A penny to to a dime
A dime to 50 cent
I'm tryin to get rich
Nothing
(Da-dum, ba-dum, ba-da-do-da)
I'm gonna pop some tags
Only got twenty dollars in my pocket
I'm, I'm, I'm huntin', lookin' for a come up
This is fucking
Yeah
50 told me
This what he said
50 told me go head switch the style up
And if they hate then let em hate and watch the money pile up
Watch
nasty
Right next to Elvis Presley pepsi
To the death for me
Yall niggas found no no rap to me
See ain't my birthday but nigga
I like 50 Cent, btch I ayo
bigger than just bein' on the rich list
Might be insanity, but people call it gifted
My face is goin' numb from the shit this stuff is mixed with
Watch
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
day (woo)
And my Ruth's Chris was Chick-fil-a (baow), and a fifty cent cake (woo)
Now it's Mastro's for the steak (Mastro's for the steak)
Yeah, I
super Litty (Super Litty)
A Brand new Choppa, and that Bitch hold Two times fifty (Two times fifty)
Loyalty not a Request, that shit is a must (Issa must)
ride
This just first releases
Tell em papi outside
Like 50 cent
Getting rich or die trying
That or Mr West
I'll testify to touch the sky
If you asking,
I
Its the way i live my life
Always give 100 take back 50
Give one 100 and i take back 50
Dont have anytime to be so thrifty
Dont need a shrine just
[Chorus] x2
Hey this is no lie
Me and my niggas gettin high
Yo if you look up in the sky
You might see us floating by
You see Biggie be like what's
Bring a box of fifty House of Windsors
We about to blaze this pound of the real sticky
Bum rush in my lungs with a cloud of smoke, puff 'em
'Bout ready
clouding the funds
80 cents up in my bank account
I'm gon make it count
I got 80 cents up in my bank account
I'm gon make it count
I'm running from the 5-0
clouding the funds
80 cents up in my bank account
I'm gon make it count
I got 80 cents up in my bank account
I'm gon make it count
I'm running from the 5-0
When I'm hangin' out the window wit that AK filling ya punk ass wit holes
[50 Cent]
Cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, marijuana,
I'm new on that greyhound
I get the fifty's the hunninds keep coming
Niggas be talking bout smoke like they want it
They not in a band, but my niggas be drumming
That boy got
(Da-dum, ba-dum, ba-da-do-da)
I'm gonna pop some tags
Only got twenty dollars in my pocket
I'm, I'm, I'm huntin', lookin' for a come up
This is fucking
Yeah, this the Shady Records mixtape (yeah)
Invasion, mixed by the Evil Genius (50 Cent, Lloyd Banks, Tony Yayo)
G-Unit
This rap shit plays
at night, tossing and turning
Underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he
Pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor
tossing and turning
underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he
pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor
drunk
My uncle Champ pump crack, smoked my fuckin' stash up
I had two-hundred and fifty grams stashed on the porch
I mean I'm what you call smoke man,
uncle Champ on crack, smoked my fuckin' stash up
I had two-hundred and fifty grams stashed on the porch
I mean I'm what you call smoke man, I'm what you
[ad libs and shouts for first 12 seconds]
[C-Rayz Walz]
see-Rayz, guns and butter!
Go back upstairs, eat your mac cheese and fishsticks
You not 50
pattern impediments
Serve a sermon of serpents
Always get better hands
Buck fifty, give a fuck 'bout two cents
Didn't get to grow and shed out a set
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