50 Cent - Get Rich Or Die Tryin' Album Lyrics
50 Cent - Get Rich Or Die Tryin' Lyrics
Writer: Curtis Jackson, Robert Tewlow
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, O/B/O DistroKid, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Cloud9
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, O/B/O DistroKid, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Cloud9
What Up Gangsta?
G-Unit (What)
We in here (What)
We can get the drama popping
We don't care (What, what, what)
It's going down (What)
'Cause I'm around (What)
50 Cent, you know how I gets down (Down)
[Chorus: repeat x2]
What up, Blood? (What)
What up, Cuz? (What)
What up, Blood? (What)
What up, Gangstaaa?
[Verse 1]
They say I walk around like got an "S" on my chest
Naw, that's a semi-auto, and a vest on my chest
I try not to say nothing, the DA might want to play in court
But I'll hunt or duck a nigga down like it's sport
Front on me, I'll cut ya, gun-butt ya or bump ya
You getting money? I can't none with ya then f*ck ya
I'm not the type to get knocked for D.W.I.
I'm the type that'll kill your connect when the coke price rise
Gangstas, they bump my shit then they know me
I grew up around some niggas that's not my homies
Hundred G's I stash it (what), the mack I blast it (yeah)
D's come we dump the diesel and battery acid
This flow's been mastered, the ice I flash it
Chokes me, I'll have your mama picking out your casket, bastard
I'm on the next level, bright ring bigot bezzle
Benz pedal to the metal, hotter than a tea kettle, blood (what)
[Chorus 1st time w/o first "What up, Blood?" x2]
[Bridge]
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
[Verse 2]
I sit back, twist the best bud, burn and wonder
When gangstas bump my shit, can they hear my hunger?
When the 5th kick, duck quick, it sounds like thunder
In December I'll make your block feel like summer
The rap critics say I can rhyme, the fiends say my dope is a nine
Every chick I f*ck with is a dime
I'm like Patty LaBelle, homie, I'm on my own
Where I lay my hat is my home, I'm a rolling stone
Cross my path I'll crush ya, thinking I won't touch ya
I'll have your ass using a wheelchair, cane, or crutches
Industry hoe f*ckers, in the hood they love us
Stomp a bone out your ass with some brand new chuckas
[Chorus x2]
[Bridge x4]
We in here (What)
We can get the drama popping
We don't care (What, what, what)
It's going down (What)
'Cause I'm around (What)
50 Cent, you know how I gets down (Down)
[Chorus: repeat x2]
What up, Blood? (What)
What up, Cuz? (What)
What up, Blood? (What)
What up, Gangstaaa?
[Verse 1]
They say I walk around like got an "S" on my chest
Naw, that's a semi-auto, and a vest on my chest
I try not to say nothing, the DA might want to play in court
But I'll hunt or duck a nigga down like it's sport
Front on me, I'll cut ya, gun-butt ya or bump ya
You getting money? I can't none with ya then f*ck ya
I'm not the type to get knocked for D.W.I.
I'm the type that'll kill your connect when the coke price rise
Gangstas, they bump my shit then they know me
I grew up around some niggas that's not my homies
Hundred G's I stash it (what), the mack I blast it (yeah)
D's come we dump the diesel and battery acid
This flow's been mastered, the ice I flash it
Chokes me, I'll have your mama picking out your casket, bastard
I'm on the next level, bright ring bigot bezzle
Benz pedal to the metal, hotter than a tea kettle, blood (what)
[Chorus 1st time w/o first "What up, Blood?" x2]
[Bridge]
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
[Verse 2]
I sit back, twist the best bud, burn and wonder
When gangstas bump my shit, can they hear my hunger?
When the 5th kick, duck quick, it sounds like thunder
In December I'll make your block feel like summer
The rap critics say I can rhyme, the fiends say my dope is a nine
Every chick I f*ck with is a dime
I'm like Patty LaBelle, homie, I'm on my own
Where I lay my hat is my home, I'm a rolling stone
Cross my path I'll crush ya, thinking I won't touch ya
I'll have your ass using a wheelchair, cane, or crutches
Industry hoe f*ckers, in the hood they love us
Stomp a bone out your ass with some brand new chuckas
[Chorus x2]
[Bridge x4]
Writer: Curtis Jackson, Robert Tewlow
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., BMG Rights Management
Patiently Waiting
[ Featuring Eminem ]
[50 Cent talking]
Ay Em you know my favorite white boy right...
I.. I owe you for this one
[Chorus]
I've been patiently waiting
For a track to explode on (yea)
You can stun if you want
And yo ass'll get rolled on (It's 50)
It feels like my flows
Been hot for so long (yea)
If you thinkin I'ma f*ckin
Fall off your so wrong
[50 Cent]
I'm innocent in my head
Like a baby born dead
Destination heaven
Sittin political passengers from 9-11 (yea)
The Lords blessing left me lyrically incline (uh huh)
Shit I aint even got to try to shine
God's a seamstress who tailorfitted my pain
I got scribtures in my brain
I can spit at your thang
Straight out the good book
Look niggaz is shook
50 fear no man warrior
Swing swords like Conan
Picture me pen in hand
Write lines knowin' THE SOURCE will quote it
When I die they'll read this
And say a genius wrote it
I grew up witout my Pops
Shit that make me bitter
I caught cases and got out
Does that make me a quitter
In this white mans world
I'm simmilar to a squirral
Lookin for a slut
Wit a nice butt to get a nut
If I get shot today my phone
Will stop ringing again
These industry niggaz ain't friends
They know how to pretend
[Chorus x2]
I've been patiently waiting
For a track to explode on (yea)
You can stun if you want
And yo ass'll get rolled on (It's 50)
It feels like my flows
Been hot for so long (yea)
If you thinkin Im'a f*ckin
Fall off your so wrong
(It's 50!!)
[Eminem]
Youve been patiently waiting
To make it through all the hate
Debatin weither or not
You can even weather the storm
When she lay on the table
They operating to save you
It's like a Angel came to you
Sent from the heavens above
They think they crazy
But they ain't crazy lets face it
Shit basically they just playin sick
They ain't shit they ain't sayin shit
Spray umh 50 [gun shots]
A to K get in the way
I bring Dre and them wit me
And turn this day into f*ckin mayhem
You stayin wit me
Don't let me lose you
I'm not tryin to confuse you
When I let lose wit this uzi
And just shoot through your Izuzu
You get the message
Am I gettin through to you
You know it's comin
You motherf*ckers dont even kno do you
Take some BIG and some PAC
And you mix them up in a pot
Sprinkle a lil "BIG L" on top
What the f*ck do you got?
You got the realest and illest killers
Tied up in a knot
The Juggernaughts of this rap shit
Like it or not it's like a fight to the top
Just to see who die for the spot
You put your life in this
Nothin like survivng a shot
Y'all know what time it is
Soon as 50 signs on this dot
Shit what you know about death threats
Cause I get alot
Shady Records was 80 seconds
Away from the towers
Some cowards f*cked with the wrong building
They meant to hit ours
Better evacuate all children
Nuclear showers theres nothin spookier
Your now about to witness the power of f*ckin' 50!
[Chorus]
I've been patiently waiting
For a track to explode on (yea)
You can stun if you want
And yo ass'll get rolled on (It's 50)
It feels like my flows
Been hot for so long (yea)
If you thinkin I'ma f*ckin
Fall off your so wrong
(It's 50!!)
It's the Gun Squad here
And you hear the shots go off
(It's 50, They say It's 50)
You see a nigga laid out
Wit his f*ckin top blown off
(It's 50, Man that wasn't 50)
They don't holla my name
[50 Cent]
You shouldn't throw stones
If you live in a glass house
And if you got a glass jaw
You should watch your mouf
Cause I'll break your face
Have you ass runnin
Mumbling to the J
Your going against me dogg
You makin a mistake
I split yo lip
You lookin like them
Michael JackSon Jackets
Wit all them zippers
I'm the boss on this boat
You can call me Skipper
The way I turn the money over
You should call me Flipper
Your Bitch a regular Bitch
Your callin her Wifey
I f*cked her feed her fast food
You keepin' her Icey
I'm down to sell records
But not my soul
Snoop said this in '94
"We don't love them ho's"
I got pennies for my thoughts
Now I'm rich
See the 20's spinnin'
Lookin mean on the 6
Nigga's wearin flags
Cause the colors match they clothes
The get caught in the wrong hood
And filled up with holes
Motherf*cka'
[Chorus x2]
I've been patiently waiting
For a track to explode on (yea)
You can stun if you want
And yo ass'll get rolled on (It's 50)
It feels like my flows
Been hot for so long (yea)
If you thinkin Im'a f*ckin
Fall off your so wrong
(It's 50!!)
Writer: Michael A Elizondo, Curtis James Jackson, Marshall B Mathers, Luis Edgardo Resto
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Many Men (Wish Death)
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Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher
In Da Club
Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, shawty
It's your birthday
We gon' party like it's your birthday
We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday
And you know we don't give a f*ck it's not your birthday
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
When I pull out up front, you see the Benz on dubs (uh-huh)
When I roll twenty deep, it's twenty nines in the club (yeah)
Niggas heard I f*ck with Dre, now they wanna show me love
When you sell like Eminem, and the hoes they wanna f*ck (woo)
Look homie, ain't nothin' changed, hoes down, G's up
I see Xzibit in the cut, hey nigga, roll that weed up (roll that)
If you watch how I move, you'll mistake me for a player or pimp
Been hit wit a few shells but I don't walk wit a limp (I'm aight)
In the hood in L.A., they sayin', "50 you hot" (uh-huh)
They like me, I want 'em to love me like they love 'Pac
But holla in New York, them niggas'll tell you I'm loco (yeah)
And the plan is to put the rap game in a chokehold (uh-huh)
I'm fully focused man, my money on my mind
Got a mil' out the deal and I'm still on the grind (woo)
Now shawty said she feelin' my style, she feelin' my flow (uh-huh)
Her girlfriend with her, they bi and they ready to go (okay)
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
My flow, my show brought me the dough
That bought me all my fancy things
My crib, my cars, my clothes, my jewels
Look, nigga, I done came up and I ain't changed (what, what, yeah)
And you should love it, way more than you hate it
Nigga, you mad? I thought that you'd be happy I made it
I'm that cat by the bar toastin' to the good life
You that faggot ass nigga tryna pull me back, right?
When my joint get to pumpin' in the club it's on
I wink my eye at your bitch, if she smiles, she gone
If the roof on fire, let the motherf*cker burn
If you talkin' 'bout money homie, I ain't concerned
I'ma tell you what Banks told me, "Cuz, go 'head switch the style up
If niggas hate, then let 'em hate, then watch the money pile up"
Or we can go upside your head with a bottle of bub'
They know where we f*ckin' be
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
Don't try to act like you don't know where we be neither, nigga
We in the club all the time, nigga, it's a problem, pop off, nigga
G-Unit
It's your birthday
We gon' party like it's your birthday
We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday
And you know we don't give a f*ck it's not your birthday
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
When I pull out up front, you see the Benz on dubs (uh-huh)
When I roll twenty deep, it's twenty nines in the club (yeah)
Niggas heard I f*ck with Dre, now they wanna show me love
When you sell like Eminem, and the hoes they wanna f*ck (woo)
Look homie, ain't nothin' changed, hoes down, G's up
I see Xzibit in the cut, hey nigga, roll that weed up (roll that)
If you watch how I move, you'll mistake me for a player or pimp
Been hit wit a few shells but I don't walk wit a limp (I'm aight)
In the hood in L.A., they sayin', "50 you hot" (uh-huh)
They like me, I want 'em to love me like they love 'Pac
But holla in New York, them niggas'll tell you I'm loco (yeah)
And the plan is to put the rap game in a chokehold (uh-huh)
I'm fully focused man, my money on my mind
Got a mil' out the deal and I'm still on the grind (woo)
Now shawty said she feelin' my style, she feelin' my flow (uh-huh)
Her girlfriend with her, they bi and they ready to go (okay)
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
My flow, my show brought me the dough
That bought me all my fancy things
My crib, my cars, my clothes, my jewels
Look, nigga, I done came up and I ain't changed (what, what, yeah)
And you should love it, way more than you hate it
Nigga, you mad? I thought that you'd be happy I made it
I'm that cat by the bar toastin' to the good life
You that faggot ass nigga tryna pull me back, right?
When my joint get to pumpin' in the club it's on
I wink my eye at your bitch, if she smiles, she gone
If the roof on fire, let the motherf*cker burn
If you talkin' 'bout money homie, I ain't concerned
I'ma tell you what Banks told me, "Cuz, go 'head switch the style up
If niggas hate, then let 'em hate, then watch the money pile up"
Or we can go upside your head with a bottle of bub'
They know where we f*ckin' be
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub'
Look mami, I got the X if you into takin' drugs
I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love
So come give me a hug if you into gettin' rubbed
Don't try to act like you don't know where we be neither, nigga
We in the club all the time, nigga, it's a problem, pop off, nigga
G-Unit
Writer: Curtis James Jackson, Michael A. Jr. Elizondo, Andre Romell Young
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
High All The Time
[Chorus]
I don't need Dom Perignon, I don't need Cris
Tanqueray and Alize, I don't need shit
Nigga I'm high all the time, I smoke that good shit
I stay high all the time, man I'm on some hood shit
Give me some dro, purple haze, and some chocolate
Give me a dutch and a lighter I'll spark shit
And stay high all the time, I smoke that good shit
I'm high all the time, man I'm on some hood shit
[Verse 1]
Everytime I ROLL up, niggas holla ROLL up, and I tell'em HOLD up,
You ain't gettin money you ain't smoking
In my Benzo, 20 inch Lorenzos, smoking on indo
Hiiigh as a motherf*cker
I be on them backstreets, niggas know I clap heat, only if you got beef
Man you better holla at me
Niggas get locked up, stabbed up, shot up
Everytime I pop up, a lot going on in my hood
I shoot the dice, I holler get'em girls
Daddy need new shoes
Daddy need Perelli's to look mean on 22s
Stash box, Xbox, laptop, fax machine, phone
Bulletproof this bitch and I'm gone
2003 Suburban swerving, too many sips of Henny
The D's sick, they searched the whip and they can't find the semis
They was just harassing me cause they know who I was
Spent the night in Central Booking for smoking some bud
[Chorus]
[Verse 2]
Now if you heard I done started some shit
It ain't because I be high (I be high, I be high)
And if you heard I done let off a clip
It ain't because I be high (I be high, I be high)
But I- twist that la, la, la, la
I get high as I wanna nigga
Go against me, fa sho, you's a goner nigga
I don't smoke to calm my nerves but I got beef
Finna crush my enemies like I crush the hashish
If you love me, tell me you love me, don't stare at me man
I'd hate to be in the Benz clapping one of my fans
Let me show you how to greet me, when you meet me, when you see me
If you real my nigga, you know how to holla "G-Unit!"
There's no competition, it's just me,
50 Cent, motherf*cker, I'm hot on these streets
If David could go against Goliath with a stone
I can go at Nas and Jigga, both for the throne
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
Now who you know besides me who write lines and squeeze nines
And have hoes in the hood sniffin on white lines
You don't want me to be your kid's role model
I'll teach them how to buck them 380s and load up them hollows
Have shorty fresh off the stoop, ready to shoot
Big blunt in his mouth, deuce deuce in his boot
Sit in the crib, sippin Guinness, watching Menace
Then Oh Lord, have a young nigga bucking shit like he O-Dog
My team they depend on me when it's crunch time
I eat a nigga food in broad day like it's lunchtime
You feeling brave nigga, go ahead get gully
See if I won't leave your brains leaking up out your skully
I done made myself hot, so ain't shit you can tell me
Niggas calling me to feature, man f*ck your money
I ain't hurtin, I'm aight, nigga I'm doin good
I ain't got to write rhymes, I got bricks in the hood
[Chorus]
G-Unit, are you ready
G-Unit, are you ready
G-Unit, are you ready
Nigga, ready or not, here I come, come, come
I don't need Dom Perignon, I don't need Cris
Tanqueray and Alize, I don't need shit
Nigga I'm high all the time, I smoke that good shit
I stay high all the time, man I'm on some hood shit
Give me some dro, purple haze, and some chocolate
Give me a dutch and a lighter I'll spark shit
And stay high all the time, I smoke that good shit
I'm high all the time, man I'm on some hood shit
[Verse 1]
Everytime I ROLL up, niggas holla ROLL up, and I tell'em HOLD up,
You ain't gettin money you ain't smoking
In my Benzo, 20 inch Lorenzos, smoking on indo
Hiiigh as a motherf*cker
I be on them backstreets, niggas know I clap heat, only if you got beef
Man you better holla at me
Niggas get locked up, stabbed up, shot up
Everytime I pop up, a lot going on in my hood
I shoot the dice, I holler get'em girls
Daddy need new shoes
Daddy need Perelli's to look mean on 22s
Stash box, Xbox, laptop, fax machine, phone
Bulletproof this bitch and I'm gone
2003 Suburban swerving, too many sips of Henny
The D's sick, they searched the whip and they can't find the semis
They was just harassing me cause they know who I was
Spent the night in Central Booking for smoking some bud
[Chorus]
[Verse 2]
Now if you heard I done started some shit
It ain't because I be high (I be high, I be high)
And if you heard I done let off a clip
It ain't because I be high (I be high, I be high)
But I- twist that la, la, la, la
I get high as I wanna nigga
Go against me, fa sho, you's a goner nigga
I don't smoke to calm my nerves but I got beef
Finna crush my enemies like I crush the hashish
If you love me, tell me you love me, don't stare at me man
I'd hate to be in the Benz clapping one of my fans
Let me show you how to greet me, when you meet me, when you see me
If you real my nigga, you know how to holla "G-Unit!"
There's no competition, it's just me,
50 Cent, motherf*cker, I'm hot on these streets
If David could go against Goliath with a stone
I can go at Nas and Jigga, both for the throne
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
Now who you know besides me who write lines and squeeze nines
And have hoes in the hood sniffin on white lines
You don't want me to be your kid's role model
I'll teach them how to buck them 380s and load up them hollows
Have shorty fresh off the stoop, ready to shoot
Big blunt in his mouth, deuce deuce in his boot
Sit in the crib, sippin Guinness, watching Menace
Then Oh Lord, have a young nigga bucking shit like he O-Dog
My team they depend on me when it's crunch time
I eat a nigga food in broad day like it's lunchtime
You feeling brave nigga, go ahead get gully
See if I won't leave your brains leaking up out your skully
I done made myself hot, so ain't shit you can tell me
Niggas calling me to feature, man f*ck your money
I ain't hurtin, I'm aight, nigga I'm doin good
I ain't got to write rhymes, I got bricks in the hood
[Chorus]
G-Unit, are you ready
G-Unit, are you ready
G-Unit, are you ready
Nigga, ready or not, here I come, come, come
Writer: HOMER BANKS, CARL MITCHELL HAMPTON, RAYMOND E. JACKSON, MICHAEL J. CLERVOIX, CURTIS JAMES JACKSON, MARSHALL B. III MATHERS, LUIS EDGARDO RESTO, CONRAD ALMONACY
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
Heat
[Skit]
"Aye you want some of this shit"
"Naw, I don't want that shit"
"I don't give a f*ck, I don't play dat shit"
"And I'm fin'nin to buss a cap in a nigga"
"Man SHUT the f*ck up"
"Whoa slow down, slow down, slow down"
"You see that brick house right there"
"That's the nigga crib when he come out you gotta tighten his ass up"
"I'ma get in the other car"
"Aight" [a car revs up]
[gunshots]
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
If there's beef, cock it and dump it, the drama really means nothin
To me I'll ride by and blow ya brains out (brains out)
There's no time to cock it, no way you can stop it
When niggas run up on you wit them thangs out (thangs out)
I do what I gotta do I don't care I if get caught
The DA can play this motherf*ckin tape in court
I'll kill you - I ain't playin, hear what I'm sayin, homie I ain't playin
Catch you slippin, I'ma kill you - I ain't playin, hear what I'm sayin,
homie I ain't playin
[50 Cent]
Keep thinkin I'm candy till ya f*ckin skull get popped
And ya brain jump out the top like Jack-in-da-box
In the hood summer time is the killing season
It's hot out this bitch that's a good 'nuff reason
I've seen gangsta's get religious when they start bleedin
Sayin "Lord, Jesus Help Me" cause they ass leakin
When they window roll down and that A.K. come out
You can squeeze ya lil handgun until you run out
And you can run for ya back-up
But them machine gun shells gone tear ya back up
God's on ya side, shit I'm aight wit that
We reload them clips and come right back
It's a fact homie, you go against me ya f*cked
I get the drop, if you can duck, ya luckier then Lady Luck
Look nigga, don't think you safe cause you moved out the hood
Cuz ya momma still around dog, and that ain't good
If you was smart you'd be shook of me
Cuz I'd get tired of lookin for ya, spray ya momma crib, and let ya ass look
for me
[Chorus]
[50 Cent]
My heart bleeds for you nigga, I can't wait to get to you
Behind that twinkle in ya eyes, I can see the bitch in you
Nigga you know the streets talk
So they'll be no white flags and no peace talks
I got my back against the wind, I'm down to ride till the sun burn out
If I die today, I'm happy how my life turned out
See the shootouts that I've been in I'm by myself
Locked up I was in a box by myself
I done made myself a millionaire by myself
Now, shit changed motherf*cker I can hire some help
I done heard about the 50 grand you put in the hood
But ya shooter fin'nin to get get shot it won't do 'em no good
With a pistol I define the definition of pain
If you survive ya bones'll still f*ckin hurt when it rain
Oh you a pro at playin battleship well this ain't the same
Lil homie this is a whole different type of war game
See the losers and up in shackles of motherf*ckin chains
Or laid out in the streets leakin out they brains
[Chorus]
[50 Cent]
After the fist fights it's gunfire boy you get the best of me (best of me)
If you don't wanna get shot I suggest you don't go testin me (testin me)
All the wrong I've done the Lord still keep on blessin me (blessin me)
Fin'nin to run rap cuz Dr. Dre got the recipe (the recipe, recipe)
Yeah, uh ha, aye Dre
You got me feelin real bulletproof up in this motherf*cker
Cuz my windows on my motherf*ckin Benz is bulletproof nigga
Cuz my motherf*ckin vest is bulletproof nigga
Cuz my motherf*ckin hat is bulletproof nigga
But the Doc said if I get hit I might get a f*ckin concussion
Better that then a hole in the head right nigga, heh heh ha ha
"Aye you want some of this shit"
"Naw, I don't want that shit"
"I don't give a f*ck, I don't play dat shit"
"And I'm fin'nin to buss a cap in a nigga"
"Man SHUT the f*ck up"
"Whoa slow down, slow down, slow down"
"You see that brick house right there"
"That's the nigga crib when he come out you gotta tighten his ass up"
"I'ma get in the other car"
"Aight" [a car revs up]
[gunshots]
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
If there's beef, cock it and dump it, the drama really means nothin
To me I'll ride by and blow ya brains out (brains out)
There's no time to cock it, no way you can stop it
When niggas run up on you wit them thangs out (thangs out)
I do what I gotta do I don't care I if get caught
The DA can play this motherf*ckin tape in court
I'll kill you - I ain't playin, hear what I'm sayin, homie I ain't playin
Catch you slippin, I'ma kill you - I ain't playin, hear what I'm sayin,
homie I ain't playin
[50 Cent]
Keep thinkin I'm candy till ya f*ckin skull get popped
And ya brain jump out the top like Jack-in-da-box
In the hood summer time is the killing season
It's hot out this bitch that's a good 'nuff reason
I've seen gangsta's get religious when they start bleedin
Sayin "Lord, Jesus Help Me" cause they ass leakin
When they window roll down and that A.K. come out
You can squeeze ya lil handgun until you run out
And you can run for ya back-up
But them machine gun shells gone tear ya back up
God's on ya side, shit I'm aight wit that
We reload them clips and come right back
It's a fact homie, you go against me ya f*cked
I get the drop, if you can duck, ya luckier then Lady Luck
Look nigga, don't think you safe cause you moved out the hood
Cuz ya momma still around dog, and that ain't good
If you was smart you'd be shook of me
Cuz I'd get tired of lookin for ya, spray ya momma crib, and let ya ass look
for me
[Chorus]
[50 Cent]
My heart bleeds for you nigga, I can't wait to get to you
Behind that twinkle in ya eyes, I can see the bitch in you
Nigga you know the streets talk
So they'll be no white flags and no peace talks
I got my back against the wind, I'm down to ride till the sun burn out
If I die today, I'm happy how my life turned out
See the shootouts that I've been in I'm by myself
Locked up I was in a box by myself
I done made myself a millionaire by myself
Now, shit changed motherf*cker I can hire some help
I done heard about the 50 grand you put in the hood
But ya shooter fin'nin to get get shot it won't do 'em no good
With a pistol I define the definition of pain
If you survive ya bones'll still f*ckin hurt when it rain
Oh you a pro at playin battleship well this ain't the same
Lil homie this is a whole different type of war game
See the losers and up in shackles of motherf*ckin chains
Or laid out in the streets leakin out they brains
[Chorus]
[50 Cent]
After the fist fights it's gunfire boy you get the best of me (best of me)
If you don't wanna get shot I suggest you don't go testin me (testin me)
All the wrong I've done the Lord still keep on blessin me (blessin me)
Fin'nin to run rap cuz Dr. Dre got the recipe (the recipe, recipe)
Yeah, uh ha, aye Dre
You got me feelin real bulletproof up in this motherf*cker
Cuz my windows on my motherf*ckin Benz is bulletproof nigga
Cuz my motherf*ckin vest is bulletproof nigga
Cuz my motherf*ckin hat is bulletproof nigga
But the Doc said if I get hit I might get a f*ckin concussion
Better that then a hole in the head right nigga, heh heh ha ha
Writer: Curtis James Jackson, Theron Otis Feemster, Michael A. Elizondo, Andre Romell Young, Thomas Joseph Coster Jr.
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
If I Cant
Yea, ha ha, yea, yea
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
[Verse 1: 50 Cent]
I apply pressure to pussies that stuntin I pop
Stand alone squeezin my pistol I'm sure that I gotta
Now Peter Piper picked peppers but Run rocked rhymes
I'm 50 Cent, I write a lil bit but I pop nines
Tell niggaz, "Get they money right," cuz I got mine
And I'm around quit playin nigga you can't shine
You gon be that next chump to end up in the trunk
After bein hit by the pump, is that whut you want?
Be easy nigga, I'll lay your ass out
Believe me nigga, thats whut I'm about, gangsta
You could find a nigga sittin on chrome
Hit the clutch, hit the gear, hit the gas & I'm gone (Yea!)
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
[Verse 2: 50 Cent (Dr Dre)]
I'm down for the action, he smart with his mouth so smack em
You holdin a strap, he might come back so clap em
React like a gangsta, die like a gangsta for actin
Cuz you'll get hit & homicide'll be askin, "Whut happened?"
OH NO look who clapped em with the FO'FO'
20 inch rims sitting on Lo Pros
Eastside, Westside niggaz know, yo, i'm loco
Even my mama said, "Something really wrong with my brain"
Niggaz don't rob me they know I'm down to die for my chain
G-UNIT! We get it poppin in the hood
G-UNIT! Muthaf*cka whuts good?
I'm waitin on niggaz to act like they dont know how to act
I had a sip of too much Jack, I'll blow em off the map
With the mack, thinkin its all rap
Til that ass get clapped and Doc say "It's a wrap"
(It's a wrap, nigga)
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
[Verse 3: 50 Cent]
I been feelin i had to teach lessons to slow learners
Go head act up, get smacked in the head with the burner
I dont fight fair, I'm dirty-dirty
I'm from Southside Jamaica, Queens, nigga ya'heard me?
When streetlights come on niggaz blast the nines
Get locked up, they read books to pass the time
In the game there's up's and down's, so I stay on the grind
Niggaz on my dick more than my bitch, I stay on they mind
They aint nothin they could do to stop my shine
This is God's plan homey, this ain't mine
I played the music loud so Grandpa called me a nuisance
And Grandma; who always gotta throw in her two cents
I'm the drop out who made more more money than these teachers
Roofless/Ruthless like the Coupe but I come with more features
I am whut I am, you could like it or love it
It feels good to pull 50 grand & think nothin of it
F*ck it
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
Uh huh, hood make it hot
Dr Dre, Aftermath
Shady, ha ha
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
[Verse 1: 50 Cent]
I apply pressure to pussies that stuntin I pop
Stand alone squeezin my pistol I'm sure that I gotta
Now Peter Piper picked peppers but Run rocked rhymes
I'm 50 Cent, I write a lil bit but I pop nines
Tell niggaz, "Get they money right," cuz I got mine
And I'm around quit playin nigga you can't shine
You gon be that next chump to end up in the trunk
After bein hit by the pump, is that whut you want?
Be easy nigga, I'll lay your ass out
Believe me nigga, thats whut I'm about, gangsta
You could find a nigga sittin on chrome
Hit the clutch, hit the gear, hit the gas & I'm gone (Yea!)
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
[Verse 2: 50 Cent (Dr Dre)]
I'm down for the action, he smart with his mouth so smack em
You holdin a strap, he might come back so clap em
React like a gangsta, die like a gangsta for actin
Cuz you'll get hit & homicide'll be askin, "Whut happened?"
OH NO look who clapped em with the FO'FO'
20 inch rims sitting on Lo Pros
Eastside, Westside niggaz know, yo, i'm loco
Even my mama said, "Something really wrong with my brain"
Niggaz don't rob me they know I'm down to die for my chain
G-UNIT! We get it poppin in the hood
G-UNIT! Muthaf*cka whuts good?
I'm waitin on niggaz to act like they dont know how to act
I had a sip of too much Jack, I'll blow em off the map
With the mack, thinkin its all rap
Til that ass get clapped and Doc say "It's a wrap"
(It's a wrap, nigga)
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
[Verse 3: 50 Cent]
I been feelin i had to teach lessons to slow learners
Go head act up, get smacked in the head with the burner
I dont fight fair, I'm dirty-dirty
I'm from Southside Jamaica, Queens, nigga ya'heard me?
When streetlights come on niggaz blast the nines
Get locked up, they read books to pass the time
In the game there's up's and down's, so I stay on the grind
Niggaz on my dick more than my bitch, I stay on they mind
They aint nothin they could do to stop my shine
This is God's plan homey, this ain't mine
I played the music loud so Grandpa called me a nuisance
And Grandma; who always gotta throw in her two cents
I'm the drop out who made more more money than these teachers
Roofless/Ruthless like the Coupe but I come with more features
I am whut I am, you could like it or love it
It feels good to pull 50 grand & think nothin of it
F*ck it
[Hook: 50 Cent]
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
If I can't do it, homie, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)
Uh huh, hood make it hot
Dr Dre, Aftermath
Shady, ha ha
Writer: Andre Romell Young, Curtis James Jackson, Michael A. Elizondo, Theron Otis Feemster
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Blood Hound
[ Featuring Young Buck ]
G-Unit, UTP
Hahahaha
G-Unit, UTP, G-Unit, UTP (yeah)
G-Unit, UTP, 50 Cent, get 'em, Buck
50 Cent, that's my name, man I ain't f*ckin' playin'
I move on you with that MAC, mane (MAC, mane)
Come off that watch and chain 'fore I blow out your brains
Shells hit your chest, go out your back, mane (back, mane)
See me I put in work, man, I been doin' dirt for so long
When niggas get laid out (laid out)
Niggas run through my crib to holla at the kid
That's when I start bringin' them thangs out (thangs out)
Then we go through the strip hangin' up out the whip
Dumpin' clips off at their whole clique, mane (clique, mane)
When witnesses around they know how we get down
So when the cops come they ain't see shit, mane (shit, mane)
My soldiers slangin' 'caine, sunny, snowy, sleet or rain
Come through the hood and you can cop that (cop that)
I'm sittig' on some change, G-Unit that's the gang
Come through here stuntin' you get popped at (popped at) (woo)
I love to pump crack, love to stay strapped
Love to squeeze gats, but you don't hear me though
I love to hit the block, I love my two Glocks
Love to bust shots, but you don't hear me though
I love to pump crack, love to stay strapped
Love to squeeze gats, but you don't hear me though
I love to hit the block, I love my two Glocks
Love to bust shots, but you don't hear me though
I came in this game knowin' niggas gon' hate me
Just for the simple fact they know that I'm a rider (rider)
I got a hell of a aim, I keep on tellin' you, mane
I swear ain't nobody gon' find ya (find ya)
When I get lifted I'm tempted to tear your block up
Your niggas can't run 'cause I'm behind ya (behind ya)
Me and Chili in your city with a couple nine-milli's
You better stay in line, bro (in line, bro)
'Cause if I walk it I'll talk it, you know we'll walk up and pop it
I love the sound of gunfire, bro ('fire, bro)
Right now we smackin' 'em with platinum
And they hate it 'cause we made it
That's what we keep that iron for (that iron for)
I represent it 'cause I'm in it, UTP until I'm finished
Juvenile, they can't stop us (they can't stop us)
And I admit it I live it
I'll knock a baller off his pivot with this motherf*ckin' chopper (baow)
I love to pump crack, love to stay strapped
Love to squeeze gats, but you don't hear me though
I love to hit the block, I love my two Glocks
Love to bust shots, but you don't hear me though
I love to pump crack, love to stay strapped
Love to squeeze gats, but you don't hear me though
I love to hit the block, I love my two Glocks
Love to bust shots, but you don't hear me though
My twenty-inches spinnin', you always see me grinnin' (yeah)
And you hear niggas call me grimy (grimy)
They hit me with them bricks and I ain't pay 'em shit
I'm outta town, they can't find me (find me)
When I come back around, man, I'ma back 'em down
I run up bustin' that TEC, mane (TEC, mane)
If you ain't got a gun and you can't f*ckin' run
My advice is you hit the deck, mane (deck, mane)
But if you get away and come back another day
My soldiers'll leave you wet, mane (wet, mane)
'Cause we know where you be and we know where you stay
And we'll come checkin' through your set, mane (set, mane)
Man, you heard what I said, now get it in your head
I ain't payin' no f*ckin' debt, mane (debt, mane)
'Cause you's a middle man, what you don't understand?
You's a f*ckin' fake ass connect, mane (connect, mane)
I love to pump crack, love to stay strapped
Love to squeeze gats, but you don't hear me though
I love to hit the block, I love my two Glocks
Love to bust shots, but you don't hear me though
I love to pump crack, love to stay strapped
Love to squeeze gats, but you don't hear me though
I love to hit the block, I love my two Glocks
Love to bust shots, but you don't hear me though
Writer: DAVID DARNELL BROWN, SEAN D. HENDERSON, CURTIS JAMES JACKSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
Back Down
Woo
Yeah
G-G-G-G-G-Unit (G-Unit)
Haha
It's easy to see when you look at me
If you look closely 50 don't back down
Everywhere I go both coasts with toast
Eastside, Westside, I hold that MAC down
Every little nigga you see around me
Hold a gun big enough to f*ckin' hold Shaq down
Next time you in the hood and see an O.G
You ask about me, the young boy don't back down
Any livin' thing that cannot co-exist with the kid
Must decease existin', little nigga, now listen (yeah)
Your mami, your papi, that bitch you chasin'
Your little dirty ass kids, I'll f*ckin' erase 'em
Your success is not enough, you wanna be hard (yeah)
Knowin' that you get knocked you get f*cked in the yard (ah)
You's a Pop Tart, sweetheart, you soft in the middle (hahaha)
I eat ya for breakfast, the watch was an exchange for your necklace
And your boss is a bitch, if he could he would
Sell his soul for cheap, trade his life to be Suge
You can buy cars, but can't buy respect in the hood
Maybe I'm so disrespectful 'cause to me you're a mystery
I know niggas from ya hood, you have no history (uh-huh)
Never poked nothin', never popped nothin', nigga stop frontin'
Jay put you on, X made you hot
Now you runnin' 'round like you some big shot (haha)
Ha, pussy
It's easy to see when you look at me
If you look closely 50 don't back down
Everywhere I go both coasts with toast
Eastside, Westside, I hold that MAC down
Every little nigga you see around me
Hold a gun big enough to f*ckin' hold Shaq down
Next time you in the hood and see an O.G
You ask about me, the young boy don't back down
"The rap game is all f*cked up now, what we gon' do now?
How we gonna eat, man? 50 back around"
That's Ja's little punk ass thinkin' out loud
Southside 'til I die, that's just how I get down
I'm back in the game, shawty, to rule and conquer
You sing for hoes and sound like the Cookie Monster
I'm the hardest from New York, my flow is bonkers
All the other hard niggas they come from Yonkers
It's been years and you had the same niggas in the background
You never gonna sell Mitsubishi Tah, Crack Child
Them niggas dead, they just suck, they no good
I ain't never heard a nigga say they like them in the hood
I'm back better than ever on top of my game
Even them country boys sayin', "50 we feeling you, mane"
Now you stay the f*ck outta my zone, outta my throne
I'm New York City's own bad guy (bad guy)
It's easy to see when you look at me
If you look closely 50 don't back down
Everywhere I go both coasts with toast
Eastside, Westside, I hold that MAC down
Every little nigga you see around me
Hold a gun big enough to f*ckin' hold Shaq down
Next time you in the hood and see an O.G
You ask about me, the young boy don't back down
I ain't gon' tell nobody you pussy
I ain't gon' tell nobody you gettin' extorted, nah (it ain't over) (G-Unit)
I've been patently waiting to blow
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to "The 50 Cent Show" (woo)
This is my life, my pain, my night, my gun
Now that I'm back, you can't sleep, I'm a nightmare, huh?
You hired cops to hold you down 'cause you fear for your life
But you heard about them guns I done bought, right?
I ain't goin' nowhere, I done told you, nigga
I'm a G-Unit motherf*ckin' soldier, nigga
(They not gon' like you)
I know, I know, hahaha (G-Unit)
Oh no, he didn't say anything about Ja
Okay? Ja is my boo, okay? Jeffrey Atkins ain't never hurt nobody
And y'all know big thangs come in small packages, holla
Now everythang was cool until 50 Cent came back into the picture
They better not put they hands on Jeffrey
Okay, first of all, they don't know that I am a 12 degree pink belt
Okay, I will dice his ass up like a little piece of celery
Okay, 'cause see, they don't know me, Delicious, do they know me?
Okay, I thought so
'Cause you know that I know karate, and I will see him
And I will Jet Li his ass, wu-ta
Yeah
G-G-G-G-G-Unit (G-Unit)
Haha
It's easy to see when you look at me
If you look closely 50 don't back down
Everywhere I go both coasts with toast
Eastside, Westside, I hold that MAC down
Every little nigga you see around me
Hold a gun big enough to f*ckin' hold Shaq down
Next time you in the hood and see an O.G
You ask about me, the young boy don't back down
Any livin' thing that cannot co-exist with the kid
Must decease existin', little nigga, now listen (yeah)
Your mami, your papi, that bitch you chasin'
Your little dirty ass kids, I'll f*ckin' erase 'em
Your success is not enough, you wanna be hard (yeah)
Knowin' that you get knocked you get f*cked in the yard (ah)
You's a Pop Tart, sweetheart, you soft in the middle (hahaha)
I eat ya for breakfast, the watch was an exchange for your necklace
And your boss is a bitch, if he could he would
Sell his soul for cheap, trade his life to be Suge
You can buy cars, but can't buy respect in the hood
Maybe I'm so disrespectful 'cause to me you're a mystery
I know niggas from ya hood, you have no history (uh-huh)
Never poked nothin', never popped nothin', nigga stop frontin'
Jay put you on, X made you hot
Now you runnin' 'round like you some big shot (haha)
Ha, pussy
It's easy to see when you look at me
If you look closely 50 don't back down
Everywhere I go both coasts with toast
Eastside, Westside, I hold that MAC down
Every little nigga you see around me
Hold a gun big enough to f*ckin' hold Shaq down
Next time you in the hood and see an O.G
You ask about me, the young boy don't back down
"The rap game is all f*cked up now, what we gon' do now?
How we gonna eat, man? 50 back around"
That's Ja's little punk ass thinkin' out loud
Southside 'til I die, that's just how I get down
I'm back in the game, shawty, to rule and conquer
You sing for hoes and sound like the Cookie Monster
I'm the hardest from New York, my flow is bonkers
All the other hard niggas they come from Yonkers
It's been years and you had the same niggas in the background
You never gonna sell Mitsubishi Tah, Crack Child
Them niggas dead, they just suck, they no good
I ain't never heard a nigga say they like them in the hood
I'm back better than ever on top of my game
Even them country boys sayin', "50 we feeling you, mane"
Now you stay the f*ck outta my zone, outta my throne
I'm New York City's own bad guy (bad guy)
It's easy to see when you look at me
If you look closely 50 don't back down
Everywhere I go both coasts with toast
Eastside, Westside, I hold that MAC down
Every little nigga you see around me
Hold a gun big enough to f*ckin' hold Shaq down
Next time you in the hood and see an O.G
You ask about me, the young boy don't back down
I ain't gon' tell nobody you pussy
I ain't gon' tell nobody you gettin' extorted, nah (it ain't over) (G-Unit)
I've been patently waiting to blow
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to "The 50 Cent Show" (woo)
This is my life, my pain, my night, my gun
Now that I'm back, you can't sleep, I'm a nightmare, huh?
You hired cops to hold you down 'cause you fear for your life
But you heard about them guns I done bought, right?
I ain't goin' nowhere, I done told you, nigga
I'm a G-Unit motherf*ckin' soldier, nigga
(They not gon' like you)
I know, I know, hahaha (G-Unit)
Oh no, he didn't say anything about Ja
Okay? Ja is my boo, okay? Jeffrey Atkins ain't never hurt nobody
And y'all know big thangs come in small packages, holla
Now everythang was cool until 50 Cent came back into the picture
They better not put they hands on Jeffrey
Okay, first of all, they don't know that I am a 12 degree pink belt
Okay, I will dice his ass up like a little piece of celery
Okay, 'cause see, they don't know me, Delicious, do they know me?
Okay, I thought so
'Cause you know that I know karate, and I will see him
And I will Jet Li his ass, wu-ta
Writer: Mike Elizondo, Ronald Feemster, Curtis James Jackson, Andre Romell Young
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
P.I.M.P
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P (now, shorty)
Now shorty, she in the club, she dancin' for dollars
She got a thing for that Gucci, that Fendi, that Prada
That BCBG, Burberry, Dolce & Gabbana
She feed them foolish fantasies, they pay her 'cause they want her
I spit a little G, man, and my game got her
A hour later have that ass up in the Ramada
Them trick niggas in her ear sayin' they think about her
I got the bitch by the bar tryna get a drink up out her
She like my style, she like my smile, she like the way I talk
She from the country, think she like me 'cause I'm from New York
I ain't that nigga tryna holla 'cause I want some head
I'm that nigga tryna holla 'cause I want some bread
I could care less how she perform when she in the bed
Bitch, hit that track, catch a date, and come and pay the kid
Look, baby, this is simple, you can't see
You f*ckin' with me, you f*ckin' with a P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me (woo)
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin 'P-I-M-P
I'm 'bout my money, you see, girl, you can holla at me
If you f*ckin' with me, I'm a P-I-M-P
Not what you see on TV, no Cadillac, no greasy
Head full of hair, bitch, I'm a P-I-M-P
Come get money with me if you curious to see
How it feels to be with a P-I-M-P
Roll in the Benz with me, you could watch come TV
From the backseat of my V, I'm a P-I-M-P
Girl, we could pop some champagne and we could have a ball
We could toast to the good life, girl, we could have it all
We could really splurge, girl, and tear up the mall
If ever you needed someone I'm the one you should call
I'll be there to pick you up if ever you should fall
If you got problems I can solve 'em, they big or they small
That other nigga you be with ain't 'bout shit
I'm your friend, your father, and confidant, bitch
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I told you fools before, I stay with the tools
I keep a Benz, some rims, and some jewels
I holla at a ho 'til I got a bitch confused
She got on Payless, me? I got on gator shoes
I'm shoppin' for chinchillas, in the summer they cheaper
Man, this ho you can have her, when I'm done I ain't gon' keep her
Man, bitches come and go, every nigga pimpin' know
This ain't a secret, you ain't gotta keep it on the low
Bitch, choose on me, I'll have you strippin' in the street
Put my other hoes down, you get your ass beat
Now Niki my bottom bitch, she always come up with my bread
The last nigga she was with put stitches in her head
Get your ho out of pocket, I'll put a charge on a bitch
'Cause I need four TVs and AMGs for the six
Ho make a pimp rich, I ain't payin', bitch
Catch a date, suck a dick, shit, trick
I don't know what you heard about me (yeah)
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me (woo)
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see (uh-huh)
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me (uh-huh)
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me (yeah)
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
Yeah, in Hollywood they say, "There's no business like show business"
In the hood they say, "There's no business like ho business", you know?
They say I talk a little fast, but if you listen a little faster
I ain't got to slow down for you to catch up, bitch
Hahaha, yeah
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P (now, shorty)
Now shorty, she in the club, she dancin' for dollars
She got a thing for that Gucci, that Fendi, that Prada
That BCBG, Burberry, Dolce & Gabbana
She feed them foolish fantasies, they pay her 'cause they want her
I spit a little G, man, and my game got her
A hour later have that ass up in the Ramada
Them trick niggas in her ear sayin' they think about her
I got the bitch by the bar tryna get a drink up out her
She like my style, she like my smile, she like the way I talk
She from the country, think she like me 'cause I'm from New York
I ain't that nigga tryna holla 'cause I want some head
I'm that nigga tryna holla 'cause I want some bread
I could care less how she perform when she in the bed
Bitch, hit that track, catch a date, and come and pay the kid
Look, baby, this is simple, you can't see
You f*ckin' with me, you f*ckin' with a P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me (woo)
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin 'P-I-M-P
I'm 'bout my money, you see, girl, you can holla at me
If you f*ckin' with me, I'm a P-I-M-P
Not what you see on TV, no Cadillac, no greasy
Head full of hair, bitch, I'm a P-I-M-P
Come get money with me if you curious to see
How it feels to be with a P-I-M-P
Roll in the Benz with me, you could watch come TV
From the backseat of my V, I'm a P-I-M-P
Girl, we could pop some champagne and we could have a ball
We could toast to the good life, girl, we could have it all
We could really splurge, girl, and tear up the mall
If ever you needed someone I'm the one you should call
I'll be there to pick you up if ever you should fall
If you got problems I can solve 'em, they big or they small
That other nigga you be with ain't 'bout shit
I'm your friend, your father, and confidant, bitch
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I told you fools before, I stay with the tools
I keep a Benz, some rims, and some jewels
I holla at a ho 'til I got a bitch confused
She got on Payless, me? I got on gator shoes
I'm shoppin' for chinchillas, in the summer they cheaper
Man, this ho you can have her, when I'm done I ain't gon' keep her
Man, bitches come and go, every nigga pimpin' know
This ain't a secret, you ain't gotta keep it on the low
Bitch, choose on me, I'll have you strippin' in the street
Put my other hoes down, you get your ass beat
Now Niki my bottom bitch, she always come up with my bread
The last nigga she was with put stitches in her head
Get your ho out of pocket, I'll put a charge on a bitch
'Cause I need four TVs and AMGs for the six
Ho make a pimp rich, I ain't payin', bitch
Catch a date, suck a dick, shit, trick
I don't know what you heard about me (yeah)
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me (woo)
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see (uh-huh)
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
I don't know what you heard about me (uh-huh)
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me (yeah)
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherf*ckin' P-I-M-P
Yeah, in Hollywood they say, "There's no business like show business"
In the hood they say, "There's no business like ho business", you know?
They say I talk a little fast, but if you listen a little faster
I ain't got to slow down for you to catch up, bitch
Hahaha, yeah
Writer: Brandon Anthony Parrott, Curtis James Jackson, Denaun M. Porter
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Like My Style
[ Featuring Tony Yayo ]
[50 Cent]
(Uh huh) I know you like my style
(Uh huh) You like how I break it down
(Uh huh) I know you like style
(Uh huh) You like how I break it down
I know you like my style
(Uh huh) You like how I break it down
Wanna get rich I'll show you how
Wanna get rich I'll show you how
On ya mark, get set, let's go, switch the flow
Teach ya how to turn yayo in to doe
The original don dada nobody bomb harda
Ya heard what I said boy, I'm hot, I'm hot
The hoodrats they say "He so crazy"
The snitches they say "He tried to spray me"
That's what you get for tryin to play me
The Aftermath and my wrath is so SHADY
No matter how you try you can't stop it
I catch ya stuntin in the Bentley Coup cockpit
If you a pimp why ya hoes stay outta pocket
Front and find out how my P-40 glock hit
"50 you need some help" chill Yayo I got this
Where I'm from the D's tryin to knock us
They swear to God that it's me sellin the choppas
Man I ain't give them lil niggas no product
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
(Uh huh) I know you like my style
(Uh huh) But how much do you like my style
(Uh huh) You like how I break it down
(Uh huh) Wanna get rich I'll show you how
(Uh huh) I know you like my style
(Uh huh) But how much do you like my style
(Uh huh) You like how I break it down
(Uh huh) Wanna get rich I'll show you how
[50 Cent]
The birds they say I got a way with words
I be like "baby girl I like them curves"
If ya not busy tonight then we can swerve
I'ma bachelor baby, f*ck what you heard
From the tellie in ten minutes I'll make you a believer
Tongue touch ya'll have ya shakin like you havin a seizure
I make hits about what I do in my leisure
G unit gang, can't another clique out to see us
Niggas lip sync the lyrics cuz they wanna be us
Groupie hoes from the hood they be tryin ta G us
Try ta holla at the kid, e'ery time they see us
Girlfriend quit pretending I'm the nigga ya love
And I ain't got to say nuttin you know that I'm thugin
Wit my hands on dat ass and ya say that I'm buggin
We family baby, kissin cousins
Now look what the riff raff done drug in
For the cheese my degrees is hotter then ya oven
I'ma New Yorker but I sound southern
And we sip DP till the Don stop bubblin
After we play, ok, got to ya husband
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
[50 Cent (Tony Yayo)]
Em said you gone like my style
Dre said you gone like my style
I said you gone like my style (Uh huh)
You gone like how I break it down
[Tony Yayo]
You're not really, really ready (ready)
The drama will have ya ass in trauma BOY!
You're not really, really ready (ready)
My knife flip open and then I gets to pokin
You're not really, really ready (ready)
Them shells start poppin and bodies get to droppin
You're not really, really ready (ready)
You think ya ready, ya not (ya not)
Really really ready (ready)
Writer: DANA STINSON, CURTIS JACKSON, J. BERNARD
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group
Poor Lil Rich
I let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me
My gat talk for me, baow, what up homie?
My watch sayin', "Hi shorty we can be friends" (woo)
My whip sayin', "Quit playin' bitch get in"
My earring sayin', "We can hit the mall together"
Shorty its only right that we ball together
I'm into bigger things y'all niggas y'all know my style
Ya wrist bling bling, my shit bling blaow
My pinky ring talk it say, "50, I'm sick"
That's why these niggas is on my dick
Some hate me, some love my hits
Flex my man he gon' bump my shit
See I'm alive, man, I really don't care (I don't care)
I tell them hoes whatever they want to hear
You try and play me I'ma blaze it in
My chromes cost more than the crib ya momma raised ya in
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
New York niggas, cocky niggaz like it's all good
F*ck around we Crip walkin' in the wrong hood
I'm fresh up out the slammer, I ain't no f*ckin' Bama
I'm from the wild, woadie, but I know country grammar
See me I get it crunk, niggas go head and front
I go up out the trunk, come back, roll out I'm done (yeah)
My money come in lumps, my pockets got the mumps
You see me sittin' on dubs, that's why you mad chump
Don't make me hit ya up, 50 Cent'll split ya up
I lay you down, the coroners'll come and get ya up
See 50 play for keeps, and 50 stay wit' heat
I can't go commercial, they love me in the street
I'm real gutter, man, the hood love me, man
Don't make me show up in ya crib like bro-man
Locked up in the pen, I still did my thing
CO screamin', "Shut the f*ck up," in the pen
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I'm in the Benz on Monday, the BM on Tuesday
Range on Wednesday, Thursday I'm in the hooptie
Porsche on Friday, I do things my way
Vipe' or 'Vette, I tear up the highway
Shorty she can tell ya about my dick game
But she don't know me, she only know my nickname
Left the hood and came back, damn, shit changed
These young boys, they done got they own work, man
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
My gat talk for me, baow, what up homie?
My watch sayin', "Hi shorty we can be friends" (woo)
My whip sayin', "Quit playin' bitch get in"
My earring sayin', "We can hit the mall together"
Shorty its only right that we ball together
I'm into bigger things y'all niggas y'all know my style
Ya wrist bling bling, my shit bling blaow
My pinky ring talk it say, "50, I'm sick"
That's why these niggas is on my dick
Some hate me, some love my hits
Flex my man he gon' bump my shit
See I'm alive, man, I really don't care (I don't care)
I tell them hoes whatever they want to hear
You try and play me I'ma blaze it in
My chromes cost more than the crib ya momma raised ya in
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
New York niggas, cocky niggaz like it's all good
F*ck around we Crip walkin' in the wrong hood
I'm fresh up out the slammer, I ain't no f*ckin' Bama
I'm from the wild, woadie, but I know country grammar
See me I get it crunk, niggas go head and front
I go up out the trunk, come back, roll out I'm done (yeah)
My money come in lumps, my pockets got the mumps
You see me sittin' on dubs, that's why you mad chump
Don't make me hit ya up, 50 Cent'll split ya up
I lay you down, the coroners'll come and get ya up
See 50 play for keeps, and 50 stay wit' heat
I can't go commercial, they love me in the street
I'm real gutter, man, the hood love me, man
Don't make me show up in ya crib like bro-man
Locked up in the pen, I still did my thing
CO screamin', "Shut the f*ck up," in the pen
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I'm in the Benz on Monday, the BM on Tuesday
Range on Wednesday, Thursday I'm in the hooptie
Porsche on Friday, I do things my way
Vipe' or 'Vette, I tear up the highway
Shorty she can tell ya about my dick game
But she don't know me, she only know my nickname
Left the hood and came back, damn, shit changed
These young boys, they done got they own work, man
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
I was a poor, nigga
Now I'm a rich, nigga
Gettin' paper now you can't tell me shit, nigga
You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga
In the backseat fondlin' ya bitch, nigga
Writer: Michael J. Clervoix, Curtis James Jackson
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
21 Questions
[ Featuring Nate Dogg ]
New York City
You are now rocking, with 50 Cent
You gotta love it
I just wanna chill and twist the lah
Catch stunts in my 7-45
You drive me crazy, shorty, I
Need to see you and feel you next to me
I provide everything you need and I
Like your smile I don't wanna see you cry
Got some questions that I got to ask and I
Hope you can come up with the answers babe
Girl, it's easy to love me now
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me?
Girl, it's easy to love me now
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me girl?
If I fell off tomorrow would you still love me?
If I didn't smell so good would you still hug me?
If I got locked up and sentenced to a quarter century
Could I count on you to be there to support me mentally?
If I went back to a hoopty from a Benz, would you poof and disappear
Like some of my friends?
If I was hit and I was hurt would you be by my side?
If it was time to put in work would you be down to ride?
I'd get out and peel a nigga cap and chill and drive
I'm asking questions to find out how you feel inside
If I ain't rap 'cause I flipped burgers at Burger King
Would you be ashamed to tell your friends that you feelin' me?
In the bed if I used my tongue would you like that?
If I wrote you a love letter would you write back?
Now we can have a lil' drink, you know a nightcap
And we could go do what you like, I know you like that (like that)
Girl, it's easy to love me now
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me?
Girl, it's easy to love me now (woo)
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me girl?
Now would you leave me if your father found out I was thuggin'?
Do you believe me when I tell you, you the one I'm loving?
Are you mad 'cause I'm asking you twenty-one questions?
Are you my soulmate? 'Cause if so, girl you a blessing
Do you trust me enough, to tell me your dreams?
I'm staring at ya trying to figure how you got in them jeans
If I was down would you say things to make me smile?
I treat you how you want to be treated just teach me how
If I was with some other chick and someone happened to see?
And when you asked me about it I said it wasn't me
Would you believe me? Or up and leave me?
How deep is our bond if that's all it takes for you to be gone?
We only humans girl we make mistakes, to make it up I do whatever it take
I love you like a fat kid love cake
You know my style I say anything to make you smile
Girl, it's easy to love me now
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me?
Girl, it's easy to love me now
Would you love me if I was down and out?
Would you still have love for me
Could you love me in a Bentley? (Girl)
Could you love me on a bus?
I'll ask twenty-one questions, and they all about us
Could you love me in a Bentley?
Could you love me on a bus?
I'll ask twenty-one questions, and they all about us
Writer: Vella Maria Cameron, Jimmie L Cameron, Curtis James Jackson
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Dont Push Me
[ Featuring Lloyd Banks, Eminem ]
[50 Cent]
I need you to pray for me and
I need you to care for me and
I need you to want me to win
I need to know where I'm heading,'cause I know where I've been
Flows, bones, crushing it's nothing
I come up with something
Come through your strip, fronting, stunting
It's something you want, 745 chrome spinning
Haters hate that I'm winnning
Man I've been hot from the beginning
Motherf*ckers envy the kid, control your jealousy
'Cause I can't control my temper, I'm fitting to catch a felony
Pistol in hand homie, I'm down to get it popping
Once I squeeze the first shot
No I aint stopping till my clip is empty
I'm simply not that nigga you should try your luck with
F*ck with, hollow-tip shells struck with your bones broke
Gun smoking, still locing, what nigga
Lay your ass down paramedics get you up feeling
[50 Cent]
Right now I'm on the edge
So don't push me
I aim straight for your head
So don't push me
Fill your ass up with lead
So don't push me
I got something for your ass, keep thinking I'm pussy
Right now I'm on the edge
So don't push me
I aim straight for your head
So don't push me
Fill your ass up with lead
So don't push me
I got something for your ass, keep thinking I'm pussy
[Lloyd Banks]
I cross my bigger nigga and I didn't cry
To young to understand, the consequences of man
Living a lie, I gotta get that money
I'll be damned if If I'm bummy
Gotta watch my back around these niggas
'Cause they fronting 20 years
Of watching my mama's tears
Got me heated, heavily weeded
Smoking that bomg 'cause I need it
These niggas don't want me balling, they want me bury
Thrown in the dirt, from shots flurry
Laying with bugs under my shirt
I got plans to hop up in that Hummer
'Cause I'mma stunner, I sit back and wonder
When them angels gon' call my number
Under, my chest is a heart of a lion
I ain't lieing , bounty hunters got me flying
With my iron, high as a giant
I'm running from nothing, my stomach is touching
What I'm clutching, to give you more then a concussion
End of discussion
My blood is colder, so I'm bolder
Hennesy and soda
Hood on my my shoulder
Looking in the mirror, I see a soldier
[50 Cent]
Right now I'm on the edge
So don't push me
I aim straight for your head
So don't push me
Fill your ass up with lead
So don't push me
I got something for your ass, keep thinking I'm pussy
Right now I'm on the edge
So don't push me
I aim straight for your head
So don't push me
Fill your ass up with lead
So don't push me
I got something for your ass, keep thinking I'm pussy
[Eminem]
These are my ideas
This is my sweat and tears
This is shit that I saw with my eyeballs, my ears
This is me who's gotta be
What you see on TV
What you hear on CD
What appears easy
Man these teenie boppers see me on these magazine covers
In these beanies and these rags, living fantasies
Fronting like it's all fun and games
Till they shoot 'em up bang
Then you see brains hang and you see we ain't playing
Ain't saying we ain't laying down at night and ain't praying
I bully my way in this game, man I'm done playing
Man I'm done saying that I'm done playing
I'mma start laying any of these motherf*cking cocksuckers
There's no way I'mma back down, like a goddamn coward
I can't, how would I look as man bowing to his knees
Like the mad cow disease, let somebody lash out at me
And not lash back out at 'em, please
Oh, whoa, yo, ho, hold up, oh no, not me
Not Marshall, you wanna see Marshall?
I'll show you Marshall, I try to show you art
Put you just pick it apart, so I see I have to start
Showing you f*cken old farts a whole other side
I wanted to not show you, so you know you're not dealing with
Some f*cken marshmellow, little soft yellow
Punk pussy, who's heart's Jello, 'cause
[50 Cent]
Right now I'm on the edge
So don't push me
I aim straight for your head
So don't push me
Fill your ass up with lead
So don't push me
I got something for your ass, keep thinking I'm pussy
Right now I'm on the edge
So don't push me
I aim straight for your head
So don't push me
Fill your ass up with lead
So don't push me
I got something for your ass, keep thinking I'm pussy
Writer: CHRISTOPHER CHARLES LLOYD, MARSHALL B. III MATHERS, CURTIS JAMES JACKSON, LUIS EDGARDO RESTO
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Gotta Make It To Heaven
[Hook]
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
[50 Cent]
Some say I'm paranoid I say I'm careful how I choose my friends
Been to ICU once I ain't going again
First Zee got murked, then Raw got murked
An homies still in the hood, why he ain't getting hurt
I smell somethin' fishy man it might be a rat
Damn niggaz switchin sides on niggaz just like that
U know me, I stay wit a bitch on her knees
An get guns away in the hood like government cheese
Spray on Suzuki's eleven hundred cc's
More plate on the back, straight squeezing a Mak
In the hood they identify niggaz by they cars
So I switch up whips to stay off the radar
I ain't gotta be around to make shit hot
I send Yayo to dump 30 shots on ya block
So spray dat Tec nigga if I say get it done
An make it wet niggaz if you round me son
[Hook]
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
[50 Cent]
When I come through the hood, I don't stop the rapping niggaz
Get close enough to smack, get it clappin nigga
Pac tried to front so I waved the chrome on his ass
Point blank range I span put a bone on his ass
Two weeks later niggaz came through with Maks to lay me down
Then sprayed I played dead and got the f*ck off the ground
Out the blue I get a phone call, 50 what up?
U send a bitch at me I send the bitch back cut up
I don't play that pussy shit, I done told you boy
Front on me, you gon meet one of my soldiers boy
Cause Entwain shot up his mamma crib an now he in Jail
Trippin on Fliks an bogger trail, pussy in black tail
Pack mamma moved, but she don't talk to him no more
The shells from twains 4-4, blew the hinge off her do'
Without that Tec every month how she gon pay for the crib
Man social service finis' come and take dem kids
[Hook]
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
[50 Cent]
Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage
to change the things I can, but wisdom to know the difference
But A, Ade did a make you say dat I say dat
That's the credit put in your head when you a case act
Man I might talk to you while we up in the Penz
But when we come home, dat don't mean we gon f*ck an be friends
Shells smash ya head close enough to hear 'em whistling
Thank god they missed you, an go grab ya pistol
In the hood niggaz runnin round actin crazy
Buyin little air Jordan's for maybe babies
See it might be his, an it might be yours
Cause them broads in the projects is straight up whores
Man it don't take much for you to get in them draws
You ain't can have 'em on they back or on all fours
You got to tell me, you feelin this shit
Because I hear what I'm sayin I know I'm killin this shit
[Hook]
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
[50 Cent]
Some say I'm paranoid I say I'm careful how I choose my friends
Been to ICU once I ain't going again
First Zee got murked, then Raw got murked
An homies still in the hood, why he ain't getting hurt
I smell somethin' fishy man it might be a rat
Damn niggaz switchin sides on niggaz just like that
U know me, I stay wit a bitch on her knees
An get guns away in the hood like government cheese
Spray on Suzuki's eleven hundred cc's
More plate on the back, straight squeezing a Mak
In the hood they identify niggaz by they cars
So I switch up whips to stay off the radar
I ain't gotta be around to make shit hot
I send Yayo to dump 30 shots on ya block
So spray dat Tec nigga if I say get it done
An make it wet niggaz if you round me son
[Hook]
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
[50 Cent]
When I come through the hood, I don't stop the rapping niggaz
Get close enough to smack, get it clappin nigga
Pac tried to front so I waved the chrome on his ass
Point blank range I span put a bone on his ass
Two weeks later niggaz came through with Maks to lay me down
Then sprayed I played dead and got the f*ck off the ground
Out the blue I get a phone call, 50 what up?
U send a bitch at me I send the bitch back cut up
I don't play that pussy shit, I done told you boy
Front on me, you gon meet one of my soldiers boy
Cause Entwain shot up his mamma crib an now he in Jail
Trippin on Fliks an bogger trail, pussy in black tail
Pack mamma moved, but she don't talk to him no more
The shells from twains 4-4, blew the hinge off her do'
Without that Tec every month how she gon pay for the crib
Man social service finis' come and take dem kids
[Hook]
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
[50 Cent]
Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage
to change the things I can, but wisdom to know the difference
But A, Ade did a make you say dat I say dat
That's the credit put in your head when you a case act
Man I might talk to you while we up in the Penz
But when we come home, dat don't mean we gon f*ck an be friends
Shells smash ya head close enough to hear 'em whistling
Thank god they missed you, an go grab ya pistol
In the hood niggaz runnin round actin crazy
Buyin little air Jordan's for maybe babies
See it might be his, an it might be yours
Cause them broads in the projects is straight up whores
Man it don't take much for you to get in them draws
You ain't can have 'em on they back or on all fours
You got to tell me, you feelin this shit
Because I hear what I'm sayin I know I'm killin this shit
[Hook]
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for goin through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
I gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven
Writer: DORSEY WESLEY, CURTIS JAMES JACKSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group
Get Rich or Die Tryin' is the debut studio album by American rapper 50 Cent. After signing with Eminem, 50 Cent also worked heavily with Dr. Dre acting as the album's executive producers, who worked to combine the gangsta rap and R&B combo prevalent in New York hip hop.
The album also contains guest appearances from Eminem, Young Buck, and Nate Dogg, as well as features from G-Unit co-members Lloyd Banks and Tony Yayo. Prior to the album, 50 Cent released several mixtapes alongside the Trackmasters and an unreleased album widely believed to be his debut in 2000.
However, after suffering legal troubles and being blackballed from the music industry, 50 Cent found difficulty in securing another major-label recording contract, until he signed with Eminem's Shady Records in 2002.
Released a week in advance to combat bootlegging and Internet leakage, Get Rich or Die Tryin' debuted and peaked at number one on the Billboard 200, selling over 872,000 copies in its first week of sales. The album's singles also saw worldwide success, with both "In da Club" and "21 Questions" reaching number one on the Billboard Hot 100, while "P.I.M.P." became a number one hit in several countries. The album was ranked number one on the Billboard Year-End 2003 and received generally positive reviews from music critics.
Get Rich or Die Tryin' was ranked by several publications as one of the best albums of the 2000s. In 2020, it was certified 9× Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). It was the best-selling album of 2003 in the US, and was nominated for Best Rap Album at the 46th Grammy Awards.
It won Favorite Rap/Hip-Hop Album at 2003 American Music Awards and Top Billboard 200 Album at the 2003 Billboard Music Awards. In 2020, Rolling Stone ranked the album number 280 on their updated 500 Greatest Albums of All Time list.
Performed By:
50 CentThe album also contains guest appearances from Eminem, Young Buck, and Nate Dogg, as well as features from G-Unit co-members Lloyd Banks and Tony Yayo. Prior to the album, 50 Cent released several mixtapes alongside the Trackmasters and an unreleased album widely believed to be his debut in 2000.
However, after suffering legal troubles and being blackballed from the music industry, 50 Cent found difficulty in securing another major-label recording contract, until he signed with Eminem's Shady Records in 2002.
Released a week in advance to combat bootlegging and Internet leakage, Get Rich or Die Tryin' debuted and peaked at number one on the Billboard 200, selling over 872,000 copies in its first week of sales. The album's singles also saw worldwide success, with both "In da Club" and "21 Questions" reaching number one on the Billboard Hot 100, while "P.I.M.P." became a number one hit in several countries. The album was ranked number one on the Billboard Year-End 2003 and received generally positive reviews from music critics.
Get Rich or Die Tryin' was ranked by several publications as one of the best albums of the 2000s. In 2020, it was certified 9× Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). It was the best-selling album of 2003 in the US, and was nominated for Best Rap Album at the 46th Grammy Awards.
It won Favorite Rap/Hip-Hop Album at 2003 American Music Awards and Top Billboard 200 Album at the 2003 Billboard Music Awards. In 2020, Rolling Stone ranked the album number 280 on their updated 500 Greatest Albums of All Time list.
Genre(s): East Coast, hip hop, gangsta rap
Producer(s): Dr. Dre (exec.), Eminem (also exec.), Sha Money XL, Sean Blaze, Darrell Branch, Dirty Swift, DJ Rad, Terence Dudley, Mike Elizondo, John "J-Praize" Freeman, Megahertz, Mr. Porter, Red Spyda, Reef, Rockwilder
Length: 53:44
Released: February 6th, 2003
Year: 2003