Lyrics:
Ludacris, ya boy was doin' this
Before Snoop Dogg, I put rabbits in the morgue
Before Dr. Dre, I was out in L.A.
Before 50 Cent, I was sittin' on Enz
When
bird on me
Nothin' to be specific
Ice, ice, ice like I jumped in the Pacific
Money, money, money
Man that shit comin' in digit's
I got 50 cents on me
friends
Just my benjimans
I don't need no friends
Just my brand new benz
See my diamonds glisten
You don't need no fuckin lens
20s 50s 100s
We don't
me
Don't care if you blind you
Can see we be drippy (bling)
Haunted by Harlem
Dreams so richie and you know we keep
The fix if the fiends get itchy
the exit, indeed
You gotta know you're thoroughly
Respected by me
You get the keys to the Lexus with no driver
You got your own '96 somethin' to ride
And keep
me, crazy
So I live by two words, "Fuck you, pay me"
Screaming, "Jesus, save me"
You know how the game be, I can't let 'em change me
'Cause
Bullets leave a skin defect
Got bank like Lloyd , yayo like Tony, but can't give you 50 cent
I Aint felt a bullet yet
Im thinking y'all ain't on shit
Im
passin' by my scenery
I came up from nothin' now my face in more than 50 states
Pedal to the metal, I ain't even go and tap the brakes
And I ain't from
clips, with the beams aiming at they mouths
In the pussy gon' drown, pushing pressure by the ounce
How you miss with a ruler clip, swear the bitches badder
drehst vier Clips wegen deinem neuen Gürtel
Frag mich nicht nach Feature, außer du bist Peter Fox
50.000 Einheiten sind für mich ein Flop
Hunderter für
hop purist
When I'm spendin' 50 thousand on Securus
At least it's a contradiction, you'll feel us
RIP to the homies but long live the killas
It's why I
a milli
They just looking to a pension
They say I might slip by
I get high
Do what I gotta
Don't dis mine
Yeah you walking on a thin line
Talking up
"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
Manute Bol hanging off my clip, boy
Niggas running like a skit, boy
I'll push you on my skit, boy
On my wrist is a brick, boy
Coke empire, brick by
I need a few of those
70 clip
Rocks on my wrist
Only one fifty, two Gs on my hip
Fendi I drip
Flock to this dick
They know it me, they watching my
get a clip, bigger than a porn star dick
And I need new casting, for a porn star clip
Baby you know that I might be the realest little nigga you
Lift my pimp hand up like "Why I oughta"
I don't tolerate the nonsense
I tell my bitch be easy like you straight outta Compton
South by Southwest out
something like this
D'ya think this song is worth 99, 79 cents
I don't know I can get a burger for that
Yeah, but you can only eat it once
So what makes you
to my demons
We gon' keep on spinnin', spinnin' 'til they all gone, uh (all gone)
Oh-oh, I, I be caught up in my feelings
You ain't here, it be fuckin'
I'm a quick death wrapped in a threat
Tell these fuzzy little weak-heart bunny babies back up or get wet
Nevermind where you draw the line, I got
50 cent, got a cigarette now
What good is it, if I give it to you
Buy a bag of chips
Smoke them cigarettes
What do I know
Here ya go
give a damn if they catch me (okay)
Wait a minute that's that nigga lookin' at me (there them niggas go right there, man)
Let off fifty shots, you
of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had
Gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den. "What do you
Think it is?"
tossing and turning
underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he
pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor
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