50 Cent - Poor Lil Rich
Дата добавления: 05 сентября 2017
Формат: mp3
Исполнители: 50 Cent
Битрейт: 320 Kbps
Размер: 7.6 Mb
Продолжительность: 03:19
Просмотры: 1
Мне нравится
Добавить в мою музыку
Слушать и скачать онлайн
Текст песни
[Verse 1:]
I let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me,
My gat talk for me. Blaow! What up, homie?
My watch sayin', “Hi, shorty, we can be friends!”
My whip sayin', “Quit playin', bitch, get in!”
My earring sayin', “We can hit the mall together,
Shorty, it's only right that we ball together.”
I'm into bigger things, y'all niggas, y'all know my style,
My wrist bling bling, my shit bling blow,
My pinky ring talk, it say, “Fifty, 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 a liar, man, I really don't care,
I tell them hoes whatever they wanna hear,
You tryna play me, I'ma blaze ya then,
My cross cost more than the crib ya momma raised ya in.
[Chorus – ×2:]
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!
[Verse 2:]
New York niggas copy niggas like it's all good,
Fuck around, we crip-walkin' in the wrong hood,
I'm fresh up out the slammer, I ain't no fuckin' bama,
I'm from NY, whoadie, 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.
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, these shells will split ya up,
I lay you down, the coroners will come and get ya up,
See Fifty play for keeps and Fifty stay with heat,
I can't go commercial, they love me in the street.
I'm real bloody, man, the hood love me, man,
Don't make me show up in ya crib like Bruh-Man,
Locked up in a pen, I still do my thing,
CO screamin', “Shut the fuck up in the pen!”
[Chorus – ×2:]
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!
[Verse 3:]
I'm in the Benz on Monday, the BM on Tuesday,
Range on Wednesday, Thursday I'm in the hoopty,
Porsche on Friday, I do things my way,
Vipe or Vette, I tear up the highway.
Shorty, she will tell ya, I'm 'bout 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.
[Chorus – ×2:]
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 let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me,
My gat talk for me. Blaow! What up, homie?
My watch sayin', “Hi, shorty, we can be friends!”
My whip sayin', “Quit playin', bitch, get in!”
My earring sayin', “We can hit the mall together,
Shorty, it's only right that we ball together.”
I'm into bigger things, y'all niggas, y'all know my style,
My wrist bling bling, my shit bling blow,
My pinky ring talk, it say, “Fifty, 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 a liar, man, I really don't care,
I tell them hoes whatever they wanna hear,
You tryna play me, I'ma blaze ya then,
My cross cost more than the crib ya momma raised ya in.
[Chorus – ×2:]
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!
[Verse 2:]
New York niggas copy niggas like it's all good,
Fuck around, we crip-walkin' in the wrong hood,
I'm fresh up out the slammer, I ain't no fuckin' bama,
I'm from NY, whoadie, 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.
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, these shells will split ya up,
I lay you down, the coroners will come and get ya up,
See Fifty play for keeps and Fifty stay with heat,
I can't go commercial, they love me in the street.
I'm real bloody, man, the hood love me, man,
Don't make me show up in ya crib like Bruh-Man,
Locked up in a pen, I still do my thing,
CO screamin', “Shut the fuck up in the pen!”
[Chorus – ×2:]
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!
[Verse 3:]
I'm in the Benz on Monday, the BM on Tuesday,
Range on Wednesday, Thursday I'm in the hoopty,
Porsche on Friday, I do things my way,
Vipe or Vette, I tear up the highway.
Shorty, she will tell ya, I'm 'bout 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.
[Chorus – ×2:]
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!
Популярные песни
Все
Вам может понравиться
Комментарии