Lyrics:
send me nine shots to 50 cent me
Get laid to rest by niggas that love to misrepresent me
Cuz content in my writtens ain't talking about no Bentley
This
you're earning
Stack paper on every flip, get the whip
Then get a new bitch and
Forget the one you with
She said she could do bad
All by her damn self
We slang kilos, eighths to them shorties, bring G loads
Of paper to the hood, we got you, cop three of those
And get your hustle right (yeah),
to the center
To get the vending machines
Where he then he would be seen
Gettin' some mini m&m's and some mints
When he went and he spent 50 cent
That he sent
one
I only fuck with professionals
Sniper scopes and silencers stuck inside of leather sectionals
Watch where you sit at, might hear that click
the four but I'm known in the trey
Killer from the 'Ville in a Chevrolet
Bumping 'Pocket Full of Stones' by UGK
That was my life circa nine trey
You should
[Chorus: x2]
[Lil' O] (H.A.W.K)
Hey nigga that's me (that's me)
I stay underground so I can shine and stack G'z (stack G'z)
these coward ass
[Chorus: x2]
[Lil' O] (H.A.W.K)
Hey nigga that's me (that's me)
I stay underground so I can shine and stack G'z (stack G'z)
these coward ass
[Black Rob - almost mumbling]
They said that I'm a Rottweiler
And I'm from the Rottweiler house, the Rottweiler New York
[G-Dep]
Really, get
a birthday with Kenny G, none
The ninety-nine cent two cents keeps two arms folded
Tuff with two F's
Yeah, let's do it like that
Unh I pay a guy
who ain't put in no work and say marry me
Free him out the pen, got many years behind you a married man
Like 50, lost my Cents, I done talked to many
pleasant grove, to Oak Cliff, Ima nuisance, shutin niggas down like a suplex, or a duplex with no rent, 50 couldn’t buy my convo even with he 2 cents
Ima
50 Cent West Coast Interview Clip
The fuck you thought?
I was one of them? Yeah
Imma tell you like 50 told me in 03
I don't know what you done heard
We like apes on the block
Put a o in the tree
Callin the jakes 50 cent
If you know when its d
We don't even say 1
Fuck a 4 and a 3
From the place
money private don't speak ask bro rb he made a rack this week
Ask your girl about me and she'll tell you my lyric still screaming out v that g
Still
click-clack in the gang
We paper stack in the game
(game) what you lack in the game
Solid foundation, my nigga
No cracks in the frame (frame)
Bun B, that be
end hated on by many men
And I need a G for a unit like I'm 50 Cent
Double up for the rent make it triple cop the bent
Nigga talking about he play wit
in place
My G-Unit features, my Eminem sixteens, my Dr. Dre beats
And it was two years from today when I started rhyming
And took my demo to Suge
And in the back of the caddy got fifty pound of smally
Tryed to jack but can't catch me
I just keep that paper stacking
Always packin never slacking
gettin' paid less paper
Then my bag boy you a hater that's sad boy
Cause yo' mom even liked me
I might be yo' dad boy
You a messed up, I know you upset up
gettin' paid less paper
Then my bag boy you a hater that's sad boy
Cause yo' mom even liked me
I might be yo' dad boy
You a messed up, I know you upset up
the Chevy Caprice
I'm hurtin', so I'm thinkin of ways to gettin' paid
Cheddar in a bundle, fifties and hundreds and G stacks
If I could just hit that big
crads, sent her rap message through a bottle
Lines from Dolomite, few tips from Goin's
Birthday, gave her two fifty-cent coins
Puppy love, gorgeous
"he cheated on her" just wasn't fucking true
Anyway, after that a few weeks went by before she let me see you
And she said it was because I still
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