[Girl:]
You, I love you so much
I can’t deny how much I love you, yeah
[50 Cent:]
Alright, alright, that’s enough
Niggas ain’t gonna hear that shit

Nigga this is simple, not complicated
I-I-I can’t be faded
I’m starting to think I made it
Get out of line, out line, line, out line
Do your act like you got a vagina, you pussy nigga
Front on me, I’ll find, find, I’ll find ya
There’s no running from me
Picture me in my darkest hour
I would rather be marked for death than mark the coward
Like the blood in your veins
You fuck around I make you bang yourself like Cobain
Turn around disappear, thin air like David Blaine
I’m higher than Jevolter he’s flying a plane
No evaluation necessary, I’m insane
The barrow that llama, hot, yeah like a sauna
Bricks in the door panel causing to fare Osama
Time for a tale of shoes, you fare damo
Don Corleone, let’s talk mano-a-mano
I’m crashing the train, they call me the piano man
I move the keys fuck a piano, man
I’m sort of like a one man band with a trumpet
Beef I let it blow, I hop a fence and dump it
Niggas be talking all that jazz
When they get down to the get down they ask
That base so deep, my heart so cold
I let you hear that street sweeper drum line row

[Hook:]
Rat-a-tat tat, rat-a-tat tat tat tat, I never hesitate to put a nigga on his back
You lose, cause I got the ill street blues
You lose, I’ll see you on the 6 o’clock news
Rat-a-tat tat, rat-a-tat tat tat tat, I never hesitate to put a nigga on his back
You lose, cause I got the ill street blues
You lose, I’ll see you on the 6 o’clock news

This vintage 50 call it my tommy gun bounce
Say the wrong shit out your mouth I’ll A your ass out
One line, one bar, I’ll be on you so fast
My night work like I’m fresh out Alcatraz
I don’t wanna play so I don’t play fair
You know it’s not polite to stare at my cartiere
Yeah, I’m enjoying the fruits of my labor
Coke boy, the dope boy, now a nigga major
I used to cut crack on my grandmama China
And cook coke think I’m the chef from Elle’s Diner
Smoke it, I could smoke a kush through the jar
When I’m tripping, I might put a clip through your car
They say I’m sick, then tell me how I made it this far
I love war, in fact, I’m the commander
I want you to open the box of pandor’
I’ll destroy you and everything you stand for

[Hook]

Yeah, I’m a South-side nigga to the bone
And when my niggas ain’t around, I do it on my own
Check my track record nigga, haha, 50 yeah
That’s cool for starters, but we gotta get to the shit
Wait till y’all hear the shit