| Yeah, it is what it is man
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| Uh-huh
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| Sirens flashin you know the routine, the crime scene taped off
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| It started out a robbery, they blew half his face off
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| They seen him shinin, cross full of diamonds he bought grindin
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| His first slip off the ladder of success he was climbin
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| The D’s came through, askin niggaz if they know what happened
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| Somehow my name end up in anything that involves clappin
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| Detectives at my mama crib, they say they wanna question me They put me in a lineup last time and they arrested me When it come to cookin coke, they know I got the recipe
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| I turn a quarter to a half, that’s why they mess with me
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| I’m the neighborhood pusher, I move packs to make stacks
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| A little weed, a little X, a little H, little crack
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| Figure, I’ll push it to the limit, take the shit to the max
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| Navy blue vest on, navy blue Yankee hat
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| Calm, in my palm’s fully loaded firearm
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| First to let off last to run, everytime it’s on I tell niggaz to suck my dick, get the fuck out my face
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| Cause I don’t need 'em
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| Cause they’re, never around, when I’m down
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| Shot and I’m bleedin
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| (What? Nigga is there. is there a motherfuckin problem nigga?)
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| (Oh, yeah that’s what I, I thought so. pussy!)
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| Niggaz be talkin 'bout me, they always callin me crazy
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| Fuck them O.G. |
| niggaz, they stuck in the 80's
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| Sayin they gon’do me somethin, now you know that’s a lie
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| Nigga you look at me wrong I let the hammer fly
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| I’m rich, I still wake up, with crime on my mind
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| Queens nigga put it down like Pappy Mason in his prime
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| When I say move, nigga move, or get caught in the crossfire
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| I prevents runnin, cut my fuckin hand on the barbed wire
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| This shit’s crazy, it’s just a different day it’s the same shit
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| Hollow-tip partin yo’head, leave your whole fuckin brain split
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| They sick, they see me in that Aston Martin
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| What’s the matter? |
| They can’t get that hooptie started
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| Thought they was grindin, well God damn, where that money at?
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| Thought you was puffed up, cause you was lettin paper stack
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| You ain’t a hustler, matter fact, youse a buster
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| I don’t trust ya, I should send niggaz to touch ya
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| (What? Who say they gon’do somethin to me?)
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| (Must be out your rabbit-ass mind, fuck around kill one of these niggaz) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song I Don't Need 'Em , by - 50 Cent. Song from the album The Massacre, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп