Lyrics:
we ball hard, just like G's should
Buy what we want
Drive what we want
G4 up up and away we go, we fly where we want
Haters smile like they like it
til I dose off
Wake up, grab the mic then I go's off
Too G for office, boss of all bosses
Crucify rappers, nail niggas to the crosses
I'm fresh out
What you gon' do
Its Good music and G-Unit
Banks
Loso
Ladies and Gentleman
You know they made cause cause cause I'm hood rich
You never ever
G's on it
Her belt got two C's on it, my daughter's stroller got D's on it
Free Big Meech, Free Boosie and C-Murder
Like New Orleans, like Baltimore,
time, G
Been a East Side ting
Scarborough ting from time, G
Been have up di ting dem from time, G
So I don't know what's wrong with these
Little
In my apartment 80 a piece
Stack a piece 80 g's
Old skool dope rider front
Off set shots 73
You say he's a traper pleas
I hang around with a gang
dreaming of.
(You and me, sitting in a tree.
F-U-C-K-I-N-G)
And she likes to take her time.
More then fortunate, form of torture.
And she likes to touch
on 'em like a Harley
Look you call it getting married, I call it acting selfish
My belt got G's on it like a Packers helmet
And I'm a hit it if you
gettin' that street cash
Say old money, new work
Smell the caine on my new shirt
My old g said strap up and don't lay your head where you do dirt
And my
of chain too on that park bench
Watch keep shit and shapon sick
You stick to conscience, hit the corner, take over Walkman's
Like G money and that
fill him a jug and he'd pass it around
Mighty, mighty pleasin, pappy's corn squeezin'
White lightnin'
Well the G men, T men, revenuers, too
Searchin'
Ali Bomaye!
My lawyer threw them gloves on and beat another case
Fuck y'all mad at me for, 'cause my belt got two G's on it
Her belt got two C's on it,
Yo he tenido mil amores pero como tu
(Master Joe!)
Ninguna como tu
(O.G.!)
Que me bese igual que tu
(Pitbull!)
Nadie...
(Jajajaa!)
Yo
loose enough to make the backwards breathe
I blow a heavy load, you kids attract some G's.
Cause I'm a smoker, too much o' this would choke ya'
I don't
howlin' at Jason
Now don't get mad, just roll to the pad
And keep a G on the bitch and roll another dub bag
(My nigga)
Light that shit, hit that bitch
Then
Now I'm on my hands and knees
Traded in my god for this one
And he signs his name with a capital G
Don't give a shit about the temperature in
man spit
And I got a seat for anyone who can't stand it
I ain't chose the game, the game chose me
A lil' fame from the rap, but still the same O.G
the streets is cutthroat and fiends kill you for a G of crack
8 g's and cadillacs, chevys cut on the deltas
Might swang up on ya then hurt ya, nobody here
showin' you the good, the bad, the ugly
We showin' you the good, the bad, the ugly
B.I.G. said get ya money ain't no telling they gon' love me
We showin'
Got a black pistol grip pump on the seat
Black tee, O.G., nigga don't approach me
Bubble gum wappin' ass niggas can't smoke me
[Chorus]
[Verse
bling bling like a 9 to 5
And tell all my hoes they don't need no job
[Chorus 2x]
[B.G]
I ride the best from a Benz to a jag to a beamer to a lex
stash it, stack it
Get in, get out, that's a O.G.'s classic
900-Hustler, you pass it around
Wanna speak to me direct, hit extension trey-pound, I'm out
[B.G.]
Niggas be hating 'cause B.G. got it
On top of the line only got it but I ride it
From the hummer to the rover to the project
B and C
on it, Snoop D-O-double-G
I'm on the mic, doggone it, you want it
Here we go again, 'bout to flow again
Take you out, 'cause I'm 'bout to bust a hoe
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