lirik lagu 50 cent – 187 yayo
{-set to dr. dre & snoop’s “deep cover” instrumental-}
[50 cent]
g-g-g-g-g-g-unit!
50 cent n-gga, tony yayo (yeah)
{whoooooo… kid}
[hook: repeat 2x]
yeah! and you don’t stop
i do a 187 on your motherf-ckin block
yeah! and it don’t quit
it’s g-unit in your motherf-ckin -ss b-tch~!
[tony yayo]
they say good things should happen to those who wait
but i’m stuck in the game still slingin weight
for that eggsh-ll white, that tan and the brown
for a xl-6 or a seven four pound
suede seats is hot but italian leather is better
and with cameras in the mirror, n-gga cars costs cheddar
i’m on first cl-ss flights, with flyin cooks
cause my verse sound nice when they fly in hooks
now i’m blowin weed yo, in beverly hills
with some bad freak hoes in the montreal
next year it’s the new hummer, stash box with the llama
i drive through in the blue data bomber
heaven or h-ll’ll prevail when i’m a goner
cause i eat up tracks, like hannibal and dahmer
i’m the first one out, and last one on the corner
cause life is a hustle, any day you be a goner
p89 ruger with the silencer
let off a clip it sound like spitb-lls goin through straws
we got, plenty of ratchets but not on sale
we even got villagers that hold shotgun sh-lls
these rappers is talkin ’bout bricks in they rhymes
you never did sh-t but some mickey mouse crimes
i don’t respect it, my work is never watered down
so on the first i get mo’ checks than nike town
sling in thirty-one hundreds, i been on the block
since n-ggas did the snake, running man and the wop
when i was 15, i ain’t want no workin papers
i played the strip all night, servin n-ggas
listen n-gga, we live like italians in jail
i got c.o.’s bringin cell phones to my cell
get rich in the game, n-ggas out to get you
fill your -ss up with led turn yo’ -ss to a pencil
i jumped out with the ruger rapid-fire
i had you on the run like omar on “the wire”
i’m the only rapper you know that stay on the run
i’m the only rapper you know that stay with a gun
i’m a hustler, o.g.’s love to hate
cause i got old school money put away in the safe
you can catch me in the hood where that dope and c0ke at
or you can catch me in cali in the hollywood throwback
i’m a bail jumper, you know them fish scale pumper
f-ck judge wong, he won’t catch me on the corner
n-gga pay poor tax, homey you owe me
you wanna rap we can battle for your see through roley
i be in m mansion, strippin them models
his bathroom’s so far you gotta p-ss in a bottle
there’s too many indians and not enough chiefs
why you buy all the guns if you ain’t got enough beef
the sh-t i spit’ll cause an all out riot
and my new four-fifth’ll cause a hollow-tip diet
i’m the type to tie up your lady, and gun b-tt your baby
i’m like the mob n-gga, f-ck you pay me~!
i’mma hide my -ssets, and disappear
make a quick twenty mill’ and vanish in thin air
i’ve finished my work now its time to cop
and meet that chinese lady at the baggage spot
i need twelve 12’s, and fifty-eight 58’s
cause i got eight sales and they all gon’ wait motherf-cker!
[hook]
yeah!
{ha ha… whooooo kid!!}
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