[50 Cent:]
G-G-G-G-G-G-Unit!
50 Cent nigga, Tony Yayo (yeah)
(Whoo Kid)

Yeah! And you don’t stop
I do a 187 on your motherfuckin’ block
Yeah! And it don’t quit
It’s G-Unit in your motherfucking ass bitch!
Yeah! And you don’t stop
I do a 187 on your motherfuckin’ block
Yeah! And it don’t quit
It’s G-Unit in your motherfucking ass bitch!

[Tony Yayo:]
They say good things should happen to those who wait
But I’m stuck in the game still slinging weight
For that eggshell 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, nigga cars costs cheddar
I’m on first class flights, with flying cooks
‘Cause my verse sound nice when they fly in hooks
Now I’m blowing 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 hell’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 spitballs going through straws
We got, plenty of ratchets but not on sale
We even got villagers that hold shotgun shells
These rappers is talking ’bout bricks in they rhymes
You never did shit 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 niggas did the snake, running man and the wop
When I was 15, I ain’t want no working papers
I played the strip all night, serving niggas
Listen nigga, we live like Italians in jail
I got C.O.’s bringing cell phones to my cell
Get rich in the game, niggas out to get you
Fill your ass up with led turn yo’ ass 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 coke at
Or you can catch me in Cali in the Hollywood throwback
I’m a bail jumper, you know them fish scale pumper
Fuck Judge Wong, he won’t catch me on the corner
Nigga pay poor tax, homey you owe me
You wanna rap we can battle for your see through Roley
I be in M mansion, stripping them models
His bathroom’s so far you gotta piss 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 shit 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 butt your baby
I’m like the mob nigga, fuck you pay me!
I’mma hide my assets, and disappear
Make a quick twenty mill’ and vanish in thin air
I’ve finished my work now it’s time to cop
And meet that Chinese lady at the baggage spot
I need twelve 12s, and fifty-eight 58s
‘Cause I got eight sales and they all gon’ wait motherfucker!

Yeah! And you don’t stop
I do a 187 on your motherfuckin’ block
Yeah! And it don’t quit
It’s G-Unit in your motherfucking ass bitch!
Yeah! And you don’t stop
I do a 187 on your motherfuckin’ block
Yeah! And it don’t quit
It’s G-Unit in your motherfucking ass bitch!
Yeah!
(Ha ha… Whoo Kid!)