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    50 CENT

    No Mercy, No Fear 2002 ©

    PT2. & Bump Heads

    I wanna be the reason you smile after you wipe ya tears
    The reason you have the courage to confront ya fears
    The reason there's two karats in each of ya ears
    I splurge with the paper ma, I don't care
    How you like it, pumps or boots, jeeps or coops
    Minks or leathers, fifty fall off never
    Whats mine is yours and whats yours is mine
    So when I shine, you shine
    The finest champagne, we can toast to life
    Crap table in Vegas, you can toss the dice
    Don't let ya fears let you confuse sayin' "fifty's bad news"
    I need you in my life girl, your too much to lose




    Nigga, you won't deny that I'ma fuckin' ride out
    Then you'll bump heads wit me
    I'll put a hole in yo ass, you'll see
    That it ain't cool to fuck wit me


    G-Unit, I roll wit gorillas
    Fuck a big body guard, I hang wit pint size killas
    I ain't tryin' to be dirty, still on the strip
    I'm tryin' to be dirty, filthy rich
    Give a nigga too much rope, he think he a cowboy
    Give Tony too much dope, I'm pushin' the big boy
    V12, SL detailed
    I rap and wait for them checks in the mail
    If you hatin', your due time life will expire
    Cause my guns speak jamaican, they be like "Bloodfire!"
    Where I'm from, niggas be on some sleak shit
    They hungry, use they lighters to cook their beef stick
    And this 'dro and this nestle got me right
    So my lungs be as black as Wesley Snipes
    I'm on first class flights heading towards Vegas
    Ya slot machines niggas, we crap table players
    I roll a seven, cause we crap table players


    Nigga, you won't deny that I'ma fuckin' ride out
    Then you'll bump heads wit me
    I'll put a hole in yo ass, you'll see
    That it ain't cool to fuck wit me


    I know a lot of niggas want Banks gone
    My kind of beef will fuck up ya grill and not the kind you put franks on
    I'm hidin' out, so my meals is home cooked
    I deal wit more ho's than a chinese phone book
    Your high with your messed up ratchets
    I'm out blowin' haze bags the size of ketchup packets
    Fuck who's in ya ride, there's tools on my side
    By the females standin' with tattoos on they thighs
    There's a lot of cats losin' they wives
    Cause next time I see 'em, they got black and blues on they eyes
    Nah, I ain't ready to die, but I'm prepared
    But I'd rather grow old with grey hairs in my beard
    They know me in the field, the kid with the fans
    That argue over my balls like Kobe and Shaquille
    If you talkin' bout millions throw me in the deal
    Big city, stadium tour, ruining the bill motherfucker

    2002 ©




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50 CENT PT2. & Bump Heads lyrics 144583 songs