50 Cent - Smoke Lyrics
[50 Cent]Yeah, I like the way this feelThis make me wanna just (G-G-G-G, G-Unit!)Buck somethin, hahaha (G-UNIT!)[Hook: 50 Cent]Nigga you shit on me, I shit on youYou put a hit on me, I put a hit on youAn eye for an eye niggaSurvive the shots or die nigga[50] Get 'em Banks![Verse One: Lloyd Banks - singing]They can't hold meI'm Lloyd Banks the one and on-lyNot your buddy, not your pal, not your ho-meyBut ain't a government around that can control meOh no!!![Rapping]Uhh, I'm on that "Doggystyle" shit, man I don't love a hoPoppa wasn't 'round, so I had to let my brother knowNever stay at center, play the back and let your money growMost them niggas wouldn't be around if you was bummy yoSouthside Jamaica neighbor yeah that's where I come fromIf you see a nigga with me then there's more than one gunFly straight soldier, ain'tcha tired of bein the dumb oneOr are you satisfied bein another nigga's Dun-DunnWe all know friendships turnin sour when you gettin itSome niggas hate me in the hood, but I don't owe them niggas shitSmilin all up my face like I don't know them niggas sickBut I can care less, I'm on the Island and I'm gettin rich[Hook][Verse Two: Young Buck]Walk it and talk it, spit it how I live it niggaCame from the country, Dirty South get it niggaFeds try and question me, they run up in my ho-telThey said there was a shootin, but they found no shellsNew York City hell they throwin niggas under jailsI got love for dem and I ain't even from dereNow bust a shot for dem boys on da blockI can feel your pain nigga, I'm still in the game niggaThere's somethin bout the sound of a trey-poundThat make me pull up, hop out, and make a nigga lay downSee every time we 'round, you hear some shots go offAnd niggas get they chains snatched when they tryin to show offShootouts in broad day, we do it the mob wayAnd come to find out, these niggas softer than Sade'I'mma keep livin my life with a pistol in my palmAnd a wrist full of ice, you can call me a Don mother*****er[Interlude: singing]We got the Hei-nySo make one wrong move and you're dy-ingAin't no time for coppin a plea and cry-ingCause my niggas ain't gon' stop ridin'So you gone[Hook][Verse Three: 50 Cent]I got a handgun habit, nigga front I'll let you have itWhen the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at itI'm allergic to the feathers on these bird-ass niggas (yea)Front and I'll put your brains on that curb fast niggaI ain't a marksman, one spark and I spray shitNuff rounds from that H-K, I don't play ***** (uh-huh)Move like I'm militant, back on that gorilla shitMoody, disrespectful, unruly, but niggas can't move me (yea)I squeeze 'til I run out of ammo, if it's a problem it's handledI have your people pourin our liquor and lightin candlesYou ***** around I blow your brains on my New York TimesRun home, turn to the sports section and read your mindIt's crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bustFirst there's crime scene tape, then you end up in that black hearseWe don't go to funerals, but we'll go to your wake famDo your body all banged up, you made a mistake man
