Lyrics:
em half a cutie
Real sticky gooey fruity face a L n u woozie
Playing all falls down my favorite song by lil boosie
Another day and st louie got a sale
as a light tan
With plastic faces and rubber hands
Fuck fame, I shoot a hole in a 50 cent piece to test my aim
How dare you call the Gods in vain
Not
as a light tan
With plastic faces and rubber hands
Fuck fame, I shoot a hole in a 50 cent piece to test my aim
How dare you call the Gods in vain
Not
wishing death on me but bitch I am not 50 cent
Many men think I'm spinning on em' like a ceiling fan
Paranoid, how the fuck you know I'm not gon' air it boy
G G G, G G G-Unit
No peace talks, no white flags
No mercy, I'm getting yo ass
[50 Cent]
Niggas done heard about my click how we stay wit
for the birds
These poor boys is confused son
Lyrical weakness, huh, so this how the game is glued (For real)
Such an embarrassment dawg, none of y'all
this song in a hearse
He wanna diss, we gon' do him the worst
I put my boots on, I got
VVS diamonds, they dance on my shirt
I'm a rude boy, yeah, she say
the dirt like I knew how to garden, yeah
Niggas be flodgin'
Walk in that spot, turn niggas to goblins
Said Them niggas said they real, but them boys fell out
bitch
Blossom with the buttercup and I ain't talkin flowers
You can keep that Remy I just like the money showers
These n*ggas worth 50 cent claiming they
up his best arm
nigga i'm so rude my opp died next day made a
diss song yeah his day real long nigga play with
us tell his momma to stay strong
a triple threat before strings get attached
In too deep no I ain't trying to do that ain't trying to be rude keep it real you too
On the low like the bottom
who am I to judge?
I gave 50 cent to many men. Time went back had me looking at my watch like
Don't be living your life by somebody time line.
Life's
the money to produce them Hitmakers
Moving...
I ain't talking shakers...
Bread?
Fuck that
Nigga
I'm the baker
Only real...
Fuck the fakers...
Paper hauling
the Yankees stadium
Mama said boy leave that rap alone go get a real job quit playin bruh
Nah I'm jokin ion even think she heard these fucking songs
She ain't
That lil' nigga not my brother, he ain't real
Get your homie, don't really know what's his deal
Boy, a nigga out here tryna make a mill
My life
co chceš, píčo? (co chceš, píčo?) Být tebou nic neříkám (ne)
Cigánský 50 Cent (more), nevím, co přijde zítra
My máme brácho vitamín, tebe se to netýká
shit
To the (?)
50 dollar, hundred dollar bill shit
(?) gold crown on a real nigga wrist
Fresh like my nephew Khalil in this bitch
.40 cal, no
hope it never slow up
I done came a long way to make it here
Gotta thank God that I made it here (yeah)
Respected by every hood, nigga, throw up
your head, like I got your ass on record
Tune, don't be so cruel, Tune don't be so rude
Nah, fuck that, fuck these lil niggas, fuck these lil dudes
By
ya coats
Bentley Farnsworth, I'll check him proudly
We got D-Block, Wu-Tang, Jay-Z and Nas
Also performing 50 Cent, Terror Squad
From the top, we have
eventually ceases to
Be controlled by a fear of what
Life can bring - James Baldwin
For well over a year 50 Cent
Had been working on what
Was meant to be hist
in Hollywood cause I remember when I had 50 Cent, up In Da Club
All my life I knew I was major, I don't need no major
I don't even write rhymes, I
valet wit' my keys
Let's make a bet for fifty large, who flyer than me? Nobody
I'm a fly boy, I'm a, I'm a fly boy
I'm a fly boy, I'm a, I'm a fly boy
Jumpin' Jumpin'
Jumpin' Jumpin'
Jumpin' Jumpin'
Jumpin' Jumpin'
I get them boys jumping
Keep them boy jumping
High
I get them boys jumping
Keep them
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