Lyrics:
Mercedes Coupé and it's drop top
I'm headed to the top
My drip is crazy
Call a custodian to bring a mop
You can tell by my swag yeah
And I got a Diddy bop
Now I know I done put you through a lot of shit
I know it's hard fuckin' with a nigga like me
Yeah, you get a lot of respect for that shit
Ridin'
and titties (woo)
And Mike Amiri shit be on me, niggas in my city know that
Every single shot goin', ask Chris Brickley
By the way, before I pulled up
Many Men by 50 Cent
You owe me money I'm petty like Curtis pay your rent
I swear these Niggas stunt for the gram but pockets be on lint
No Air Up There
Politically correct me
Flex disrespect
'Gainst the whole game
Respectively
Ice on my neck
Straight outta 50 cent machines
Why would I invest in the glamour
and they're 50 cents
Dividends
Their lack of
Money power nigga better back up
Niggas like me quick so you better keep a track of
Tec and Sa!nt you know we is
know we most def
Coming back with legal cost
That jadakiss racket was a dismal loss
Fifty by the pool on a good day is dismal
I sip cognac on the rock
the kerosene
My Queen from the Carribean
Mobbin like Genovese
I'm Fifty Cent In Den of Thieves
Floor seats no mezzanine
Sonically tip the triple beam
Plotting
if I was broke or if I was filthy rich
Trynna make a dollar out of fifty cent
Might run up stupid numbers but I got plenty since
Keep that chopper like
last tip
50 cents dosnt fatten my fuckin money clip
My pocket battleship flew off my
Only fingertip, winning wars
Selling my neighbors their citizenship
I am not Fifty Cent
Brand new PS5 but can't pay yo rent
You reach in yo pockets and pull out lint
I'm talking bout how yo money is spent
If you are
don't follow the rules
Why should I when Reebok giving niggas they own shoes
And I'm dealing with the same problems 50 Cent got
Yayo in jail and they
remnants of stars inside every orifice
Bet we blast that energy
I'm a fifty cent vinyl by an Austrian band
I am an overbearing zealot socialized like a man
they gon' think you lyin' if you
Tell 'em you met me
The Butcher, nigga, Griselda, aie!
By Fashion Rebels
Yeah, I put a shit bag on you
The Fifth blast
mastered by a few
I take a half a million tapes sell 'em straight to you
All that shit niggas talking just cant be real
I dont need a record deal, I need
fuck me over
That's why I put the music out and did it
I own all my shit and I'm feelin' like Diddy
You and your stipend are runnin' like 50
You wanna
to spraying
You'll think I had like two fifty
When I cop that Brabus
Nigga what is they gon do wit me
Who city
I den hit this bitch
Like I'm the new Diddy
Two
wanna go wild and stupid
This that new shit (Illi)
Tell that old shit farewell
(Bye, Bye)
Boy, you best respect yourself (Ho)
Gun on the desk (Ho)
Best
in bitch we scoring
Dunk on the plug it's gone by the morning
Pull up in that new thing it's a foreign catch me in like every city like I'm touring
and Mahatma Gandhi
Went to the park to check on the game
But they was murdered by the other team
Who went on to win fifty-nil
You can be true, you can be
cents
English pounds and Eskimo pence
You lot! What?
Don't stop! Give it all you got!
You lot! What?
Don't stop! Yeah!
Working for a rise,
cents
English pounds and Eskimo pence
You lot! What?
Don't stop! Give it all you got!
You lot! What?
Don't stop! Yeah!
Working for a rise,
Gandhi
Went to the park to check on the game
But they was murdered by the other team
Who went on to win fifty-nil
You can be true, you can be false
and Indian cents
English pounds and Eskimo pence
You lot! What?
Don't stop! Give it all you got!
You lot! What?
Don't stop! Yeah!
Working for a rise,
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