Lyrics:
d'la censure si le son griche, leur seule heure juste provient d'Greenwich
Y'achètent le temps à coup d'pourliche, leur salade à un p'tit goût louche
this hustla with street knowledge
9 to 5
Still fliping twenties on the side
Try to get by the feints
I'm making dollars out of fifty cents
Got
at
All right Ma, I checked out all my niggas then we jetted
With fifty balls a piece brought a piece for unleaded
Smokin' blunts forty ouncin', G and P
[Intro / Chorus: 50 Cent]
Yeah.. I know you don't love me, I know you don't love me
You ain't the same when Jay-Z's around
I know you don't love me,
[Intro / Chorus: 50 Cent]
Yeah.. I know you don't love me, I know you don't love me
You ain't the same when Jay-Z's around
I know you don't love me,
to make a comeback (let's go)
Here we go
Chopper, hold them fifties by the door (door)
Bitch, I got blue hundreds on the floor (floor)
Arm and hammer
got soul
Niggas coming home from doing wild time
Talkin bout P - "Yo P I could rhyme"
50 Cent did it I could do the shit too
But you not 50, he
evidence the
Way I burn paper they know I earn paper as
Soon as I learn paper
The traphouse crack smoke smell
Like burnt vapor through the back rows
your swings
You niggas keep rappin' 'bout your dreams
My reality 50 birds waitin' in the wings
Do it my way
I hit the highway with the batter
So when
divorced
after I jumped the broom
P-I-M-P like 50 cent tune
Known to bring breeze to June
Think I might be past a pilot
Might need to start fucking with
to California and be a forever stoner
By the way, did I mention that I got glaucoma
I'm lying, I just love the smell, the aroma
Gelato, birthday cake, Runtz, sour
When I hit the club all the girls show me love
While at the bar, got drank by the jug
In the v.i.p with the chicks and the drugs
It's the T.I.P
'm in debt with Christ, I done did that twice
I'm nice, y'all niggas can't hang wit fifty
Blaaat, y'all niggas can't bang wit fifty
Say I'm born
cents in, that's two pennies
Bet my amigos win, they ready
They offset, yeah that's plus 50
'Cause I battle men, and I'm beating many
I'll head down south
[Originally by 50 Cent]
No shorty, it's Beyonce,
We gonna' party like, it's ya birthday,
We gettin' naughty like, it's ya birthday
So put ya drink
that bennigans
Timmy 21 to my competition
I’m a stomp em
In some timberlines
As a youngin listened to 50 cent
Get rich or die trying
Story telling
Bone Thugs N Harmony
Un sac Eatspak ouais c'est le système
Toujours pas le 6pack de Fifty cent
Trom Stalingrad, ken Ibtissem
Champagne Cristal et p
to the violence, it's nothin' to me
Fuck 'em - they don't give a fuck about P
If they could kill me, believe me, they would
That's why I set it off, and I get 'em
get your shit back
Either I'm ahead of my time or y'all niggaz behind
Shit I'm gettin' hotter and hotter, when I rhyme
50 Cent, Southside niggaz
state's forty cents
in New York City fifty cents elsewhere
It makes no goddamn sense at all
America's oldest continuously published daily piece of bullshit
they don't give a fuck about P
If they could kill me, believe me, they would
That's why I set it off, and I get 'em real good
When them street, lights,
through by servin y'all
And only cause my man heard of y'all
Other than that, shit, y'all won't get served at all
[Tony Yayo]
I went from oodles
one day and the week was end
It was one day (Baby it was one day)
Strawberry butter, okay okay
She smell like strawberry butter
(P*ssy, p*ssy, p
Chain all V.S., bitch, you knows it's B.S., boy I run my city
End of story, nigga P.S
All white Maybach, Green Bay, they packin'
Y'all niggas was
.jpg "Smell The Roses")
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