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lirik lagu 50 cent – smoke


[50 cent]
yeah, i like the way this feel
this make me wanna just (g-g-g-g, g-unit!)
buck somethin, hahaha (g-unit!)

[hook: 50 cent]
n-gg- you sh-t on me, i sh-t on you
you put a hit on me, i put a hit on you
an eye for an eye n-gg-
survive the shots or die n-gg-

[50] get ’em banks!

[verse one: lloyd banks – singing]
they can’t hold me
i’m lloyd banks the one and on-ly
not your buddy, not your pal, not your ho-mey
but ain’t a government around that can control me
oh no!!!

uhh, i’m on that “doggystyle” sh-t, man i don’t love a ho
poppa wasn’t ’round, so i had to let my brother know
never stay at center, play the back and let your money grow
most them n-gg-s wouldn’t be around if you was b-mmy yo
southside jamaica neighbor yeah that’s where i come from
if you see a n-gg- with me then there’s more than one gun
fly straight soldier, ain’tcha tired of bein the dumb one
or are you satisfied bein another n-gg-‘s dun-dunn
we all know friendships turnin sour when you gettin it
some n-gg-s hate me in the hood, but i don’t owe them n-gg-s sh-t
smilin all up my face like i don’t know them n-gg-s sick
but i can care less, i’m on the island and i’m gettin rich


[verse two: young buck]
walk it and talk it, spit it how i live it n-gg-
came from the country, dirty south get it n-gg-
feds try and question me, they run up in my ho-tel
they said there was a shootin, but they found no sh-lls
new york city h-ll they throwin n-gg-s under jails
i got love for dem and i ain’t even from dere
now bust a shot for dem boys on da block
i can feel your pain n-gg-, i’m still in the game n-gg-
there’s somethin bout the sound of a trey-pound
that make me pull up, hop out, and make a n-gg- lay down
see every time we ’round, you hear some shots go off
and n-gg-s get they chains sn-tched when they tryin to show off
shootouts in broad day, we do it the mob way
and come to find out, these n-gg-s softer than sade’
i’mma keep livin my life with a pistol in my palm
and a wrist full of ice, you can call me a don motherf-cker

[interlude: singing]
we got the hei-ny
so make one wrong move and you’re dy-ing
ain’t no time for coppin a plea and cry-ing
cause my n-gg-s ain’t gon’ stop ridin’
so you gone


[verse three: 50 cent]
i got a handgun habit, n-gg- front i’ll let you have it
when the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at it
i’m allergic to the feathers on these bird–ss n-gg-s (yea)
front and i’ll put your brains on that curb fast n-gg-
i ain’t a marksman, one spark and i spray sh-t
nuff rounds from that h-k, i don’t play b-tch (uh-huh)
move like i’m militant, back on that gorilla sh-t
moody, disrespectful, unruly, but n-gg-s can’t move me (yea)
i squeeze ’til i run out of ammo, if it’s a problem it’s handled
i have your people pourin our liquor and lightin candles
you f-ck around i blow your brains on my new york times
run home, turn to the sports section and read your mind
it’s crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bust
first there’s crime scene tape, then you end up in that black he-rs-
we don’t go to funerals, but we’ll go to your wake fam
do your body all banged up, you made a mistake man