50 Cent]

Yo, yo we can't stay alive forever

So if shit hit the fan then we might as well die together

I'm high as ever, more hoes and more chedda

G-Unit move around with them pounds and barreta's

Yea faggot, if I want it I'm gon' have it

Regardless if it's handed to me or I gotta grab it

Don't make a ass outta yaself tryin to stop me

I'm cocky, raps rocky, nigga you sloppy

You know that I'm, 8 levels above you nigga

I'll club you nigga, I never heard of you nigga, ugly nigga

I'm the wrong one to provoke

You rattin on niggas is only gon' leave you smoke

So the only thing left now is tools for these cowrads

I got no friends, fuck most of these cowards

They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards

While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers



[Lloyd Banks]

I got a intergangstress who argue and steams the reefer

And who flip when I call a bitch like she Queen Latifah

Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the streetsweeper

This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker

We slidin through the ruckus, wit prada on the chuckus

Soon as spring break ho's home from college wanna fuck us

I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas

I'll sick rottweiler's on you fuckas, cops followin to cuff us

Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros

When it comes to paper I blow a soul outta aero

I'ma break before I lay floor buried

Besides, every rapper ain't a star, n every plad ain't Burburry

You can't tame Lloyd, smokin by the big screen

You changin the channel looks like I'm playin the game boy

I know to watch botherin ya vision

You reach and I'll put a dot on ya head like its part of yo religion

Why party wit a pigeon?

I'm blowin a 10 cuz Bush handin flyers for a party in a prison

I'm in the gucci vest wit the green and red straps

I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack

Now every morning's a fast start

And there aint problem gettin dressed cuz my closet got more isles than pathmart

Run, move startin a wave

and leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs

I'm the young pimp pardon my age

I don't got long hair but if I did she be partin my braids

Niggas find what club they at

take 'em wit us, and run a train on 'em like a subway map

get advance is a grey Acura

see these record labels got most artists gettin fucked like the gay rappa'

i go the college on the tour

I'm goin down in history nigga, next to Wallace and Shakur

I keep ya ammo clean, Tek's polished in the drawer

Camera's by the hamper that monitor the floor

by now, you probably heard of me

fresh outta surgery, flashy as a fuck, you gon' have to murder me

Burglary, I'm leavin wit cha nike's bugendy, White T, bergendy

you match now, back down

niggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear

catch me on the boat wit weed smoke and fishin' gear

heavy when I tote, C-notes from different years

Bezzy on the rope, remotes for liftin chairs

You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya

I send cars to crib like I'm a cab dispatcha

you better off wit ya stupid guys, lookin for a coupe to drive

you ain't gettin nuttin but ya french fries supersized

it's a damn shame y'all still local

I'm in a million dollar studio layin my vocals

Nigga



[50 Cent]

Still in the projects nigga, you ain't goin nowhere

you gon' fuckin be there for the rest of yo muthafuckin life

and yo momma said, I'm supposed to tell you somethin.....

to encourage you, somethin positive

aight well I ain't gon' lie to you muthafucka, he ain't goin nowhere

get yaself a beer, get on the fuckin curb...

fuckin dirtbag