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Lyrics of 50 Cent Songs

50 Cent

Follow Me Gangster

 

[50]

Yeah.. Ja, you ready? Drop that

Ferrari F 50 style baby (yeah, yeah)

I'ma show 'em how I do it (yeah, yeah)

G-g-g-g-g G-UNIT!

 

I keep hearin' niggas is happy, the D's come, niggas wit guns

When I'm out on bail, ridin' wit' some new ones

Big got hit in that passenger seat

Pac got hit in that passenger seat

Now I'm ridin' 'round in that passenger seat

Come near the whip, I'm blastin' my heat

It don't take long, for my juvenile delinquent thinkin' to sink in

The consequences mean nothin', those semi auto's is bustin'

Crack sellin', predicate villain, spit big words but I can't spell 'em

Put a shot to your melon, that'll keep you're punk ass from chillin'

Then I got that nine and a fo'-fo', that H2 is never full

Bullet proof windows and doors, gangsta how 'bout yours

Southside tatted on my back

My last gun shipment got the whole hood strapped

Now all I got is two 380's and a nine

Nigga you can knock and tell the cops but you're dyin'

 

[Chorus - repeat 2X]

You're thicker than water

Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa

You're thicker than water

Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa

You're thicker than water

Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa

You can be a Blood or a Crip

Nigga, you bitch

Follow Me

 

[Tony Yayo]

I used to chill in the hood, to support the fiends

But now I'm eatin' caviar instead of pork and beans

I'm in the money green 7-45, with 7 shots in the fo' five

Y'all niggas wanna die?

I got a love affair, wit' violence and guns

So this is for them gangstas, rep' where you from

When I got O'd up, my heart turned colder

That's why the mac react like a king cobra

Now I'm jumpin' out of Rovers, in Gucci loafers

Y'all niggas wanna stun? I'll bury you cockroaches

Gimme one year, in this industry

I'll buy enough guns to declare war on a small country

 

[Chorus]

 

[Lloyd Banks]

Still walk around wit' the hammer boss

Rope and a cross

Hard times'll make a lil' nigga hate Santa Claus

Your mountains is high, holdin' in Diana Ross

I'm like a 2003 banana Porsche

I don't gotta hide sluts, to get your ties cut

They on my dick, 'cause I make groupies set off a fire truck

My team in the cutt, packin' middle things

I got more foreign shooters than the Sacramento Kings

It's 8 class karats in the border

I poke holes in plastic, to avoid a vaginal disorder

I'm a savage on your daughter

She ain't in the college dorm

Then I guess I'm squirtin' on the cabin that you bought her

I'm a heavy weed smoker, so the average is a quarter

Brown colored from shit, he established in the water

You got Banks on your jersey, you part of my fan base

Just 'cause you pour syrup on shit, don't make it pancakes

 

[Chorus]

 

 

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