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300 Bars and Runnin'
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Spoken Boy #1: (Crying) My mama took me to Sam Goody's. I wanted to buy a 50 Cent CD. I took that shit home... That shit was wack like a muthafucka! I fuck with Game! Boy #2: I like 50 Cent. He reminds me Spongebob. And Tony Yayo is Blues Clues, and Lloyd Banks is Dora the Explorer. They're my friends. Psyche! Boy #3: I went down one of them bodega shits right there in Harlem, got me a bootleg Lloyd Banks and Young Buck CD. Took that shit home, put it in my boom box, thought I was bout to be on some Radio Raheem shit. Man that shit sound like some Vanessa Williams '88! I mean Olivia cute but they say that bitch a man. So this Black Wallstreet for life now. G-G-G-UNOT! The Game: 300 Bars and Runnin Just loan me your ears for 15 minutes Walk with me Hear the breakdown Pass the doja, .45 in the holster Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them niggaz they toy soldiers Oh, that boy colder than Hova unless he sober Like I'm the president, but this ain't the takeover Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a little closer Before you call this a diss, and you make Hova pissed Why would I wanna do that? When I'm just the new cat That was taught if a nigga take shots to shoot back Defending his yard, yeah standing his ground I'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the crown Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in Madison square Watch everybody sleep through it We can go bar for bar, I'll let the lines speak to 'em What they say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do it They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em silly What you thought? Them was the only niggaz that rapped in Philly? See them niggaz with the sunnis, leave you wrapped in Philly Then dash in groups like Beanie Mac in Philly Cosmic Kev called, said Curtis Jack in Philly Make a U-turn, I gotta go back to Philly I forgot my cheesesteak, that's what I told the cops So they wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the Glock And I can't forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the cops Even I was Ready To Die, when I heard that he was shot What's beef? Beef is when I murk you on the spot Labels signing many things, still searching for they Pac I put purple on the block So I don't feel threatened when Ludacris say he coming for the #1 spot Ask 50, it get lonely on top You can hate me or love me, but now the cops the only homies he got When it's beef we eat, we win, but we ain't lonely we pop You sell records but a GGG-u not! Acting big on the radio, to me you not You can ask Mr. CCC who hot Tony Yayo I bet 10 G's you flop Run up on that new 300 C you got Stop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding stop And I hope you black out before you see the cops I ain't hot top for colors, I'm from Cedar Block So I got my hot tops that make your breathing stop I'm a gangsta slash rapper, check your CD shop I'm like Elvis in there, they can't believe you dropped Now I'm moving on up to George and Weezy's spot I picked up where my homeboy Eazy stopped I saw the west coast, put the shit on my back Sprayed Aftermath on it, then loosened the strap It get hot in here, let Lucifer rap Bring hell to niggaz when Dre producing a track Take it to the streets, put the duece duece to your hat Then call up the pigs, tell them the rooster's back Call Jadakiss, tell him that duke is back I'm still by your side, no matter who comes strapped Fuck Lloyd Banks, it ain't about who can rap It's about when the Ruger clap, is Rufus back I see what you thinkin, you want me to die, is that so? Now you left leaning back, thanks to Fat Joe We got reservations in heaven, you ready? Let's go Drop them off, then pop Cristal like Esco I'm a say 'he hit me first' if me and Dre talk All Nas said back was he had a "Braveheart" Now that's the eulogy, beef is kinda foolish see Niggaz running their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me But quit the yapping before I proceed to clapping And you gon' see the captain with plans of getting me captured Even behind bars, I'm still gon' shine I'm 10 years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm fine Then I go right back, nigga I pop mines How you gon' drop Olivia, you only drop dimes I knew you changed, when you started sleeping in that vest dog I don't need 50 Cent, my niggaz make collect calls 1-800-split a faggot nigga wig He got G-Unit wings, throw them off the Queens Bridge Now your career is over, career is over We in QB, banging CNN in the rover T-O-N-Y, that's Capone and NORE You ain't the talk of New York, your sixteens is boring Take that shit off, nigga; go back to PC And tell 50 Cent you want a copy of Beef 3 I'm airing their ass out on DVD You wanna rhyme like Lloyd Banks repeat after me I'm a G-Unit toy soldier On Sesame street doing voice overs Bitch ass nigga need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines Sound like Oscar the Grouch, with them nursery rhymes We was in the studio, when I first got signed He got stuck, he called 50 tryna borrow some lines That's the wrong nigga when you need help with your rhymes All he gon' tell you is say G-Unit one more time Got mad cuz I ain't wanna make your beef mine You got lucky with Ja, why you aint go at Shyne? He freestyled from the pen, that's just the fact Said he'd put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with that Then you lied about your pops, he ain't never bust no cap Like Father, Like Son, go ask Busta that I knew from the beginning I couldn't trust those cats I'd kill 'em all, if I could bring Justo back The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones I said The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones And I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and screw it Do whatever to it, but it in the store the shit moving Gave 'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do it Came with two hundred, nigga this is more than music Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like summer Both feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin And I beef with any nigga, say my name muthafuck I'm gunnin' You can put it on skee if you want it I'll air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue And watch them shits sell out like a Air Jordon shoe I told Funk Flex when I catch the nigga Whoo Kid We gon' see if he know how to DJ with bruised ribs Don't hit me on the sidekick asking what you did Get a gun or ask 50's police to use his Cuz Bloods gonna get ya Bloods, Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain That 380 spill brains, when I pop shots Outside NY, in front of hip-hop cops Or broad day in L.A., I'ma tell Em and Dre This nigga bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to say Took me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes So I'ma take him out his house, put the beam on his face Drop him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakes Cuz when you fucking with Jayceon, you can bleed in the lake For caking off niggaz on them CD's and tapes Ask them to scratch a record, you will see he fake If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cheese cake Take the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant replay Not the instant replay I mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on stage singing like Bitches only feel your shit just a lil bit Niggaz only feel your shit just a lil bit On my album 50 helped me just a lil bit Only on two songs, now back to some killer shit My clips bananas, I kill a gorilla quick Beating on your chest, I see to your death, yep Tell Ecko to make him a suit Tell Reebock to make him some boots Get him a head band, to cover the holes in his head He a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy waters like Redman Banks blacked out and let the gun blam without a M-E-T-H-O-D



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投稿者： PetitLyrics
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