Lyrics:
and imma say it to yo face again
Make a song with 50 cent and call it many men
Have praise for a nigga in the red now
Cuz I'm the king and imma say it till
fucking make me sick
All I know when I catch a opp I'ma hit him in his shit
Leave shot nine times, it like 50 cent I don't beef with none of these niggas
up 50 Cent to make a Show about your life
Remember they stole your Daytons, you got em back the next Night
Separate us from them other Niggas, it's
don't sleep
Put 50 cents in your commisary, reach you next week
The streets still in a shangle, since we last broke bread
And Baby Ra got left, O.T. two
King of Kings und ich schreibe mein Text auf den Beat. Yeah
Sonny Black, jo, back on the streets,
Guck', die kleinen Hänger rauchen Backstage das Weed.
first time in jail nigga gone need some friends
By the way youngster what's your name
You can call me killer on the streets its the dopeman
Icey boys, and we still tote Uzis
It's about money, it ain't never 'bout music
Yeah, he from the streets
But he still ain't Gucci
Hunnid bottles
fifty deep
But they be fuckin' cowards when they by they selves
You know who I'm talkin' about
(You know who I'm talkin' about)
That's right, you
fuckin fifty deep
But they be fuckin cowards when they by theyselves
You know who I'm talkin about
(You know who I'm talkin about) that's right
You ain't
Street IPA, Trader Joses, still no cans
Hey Joe, I’m still a fan of two dollar salad bags
Killer mixes romaine and spinach, salads ridic delicious
Lunch
to the wind trying to know down these pins
He'll keep swinging from the hair above his chin
Till he finds his soul in the fifty cent bin
The price
we're rough in it
When you're sweet
In the street
And I fall for it
Make me feel I can't keep up
Before you take a hint
And you say that you'll change
Uh
Oh yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Oh yeah
Oh yeah, uh
They say ty your music hard how you made that
I ain't even know you rapped you so laid back
Ima rap
of them cars
Ain't no more drive-bys, they chasin' shit
Tryna catch a nigga and erase his shit
Opps lived last night, so tonight
We finna slide back
Two
Get rich or die trying, got me feeling like I'm 50
Bitch, we got it all, you want that Bobby or that Whitney
Bitch, I'm riding with my blicky, you
through
I'll never stop playing old fifties love songs, cause I'll never stop missing you
Missing you, missing you
As I watch the time go by, these tired
Christmas
But until you know I be on grinch shit
Living isolated probably plotting on a victim
Fuck you and your gifts bitch
I got 50 cents left
Imma die
disrespectful
Y'all know I don't care 'bout these niggas
Happy New Year
Tekashi got snatched by the feds, he done
I'm like, "Damn, why they doin' that to 50
go out like the last bitch!
Heh, five-oh's on my ass main
They know me by the face, but they don't know my last name
Now I'm back on the case
I go by the name of Kel Mitchell!
And this is TeamBackPack! Let's go!
Yo, I'm so '96, back and on my grimy shit
Nigga get -whoever they'll sign me
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
Really I just want the bag I know imma find a way
It ain't just for the cash it's so I can build the team
Get rich or die tryin' spit that 50 like
about a dolla ya you know I got bucks wit me
Used to window shop up at the mall wit cents 50
But Now I stunt hard have the whole hood fuck wit me
Like
prosper
Manoeuvre like I'm Bruce Lee, ya know I'm chucks
Been doing this since a young buck
Banging for fifty cent from a victim, while my gun talk
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