Lyrics 8 More Miles - 50 Cent, Lloyd Banks, Tony Yayo

8 More Miles

This rap shit plays a major part in my life
So if you jeapordize it I got the right
To send a mothafucka at you tonight
G-Unit!
And I ain’t stoppin' till my clique poppin'
Swimmin' in barrels of money
Ma can walk around with her head up, cuz her child ain’t a dummy
It’s funny, niggas would rather see you sufferin' and hungry
I’m comfy as hell, skatin' with another nigga’s money
You lyin' your ass off, you know you ain’t that tough
I’m pullin' your mask off as soon as you act up
You know what I came for, a piece of the game, or
Artillery that’s about as long as a chainsaw (Lloyd Banks!)
I’m wide awake but it still feels like I’m dreamin'
Forty cal.
under my pillow, condom full of my semen
The physical presence of a female’s the form of a demon
That’s why I, fuck 'em and leave 'em
Get my nut while I’m breathin'
Cause they thought they’d catch me slippin', now I’m duckin' and trippin'
That’s a thousand dollar outfit what the fuck is you rippin'?
You trippin', more records could get my ass in position
Death waits for no religion whether Catholic or Christian
Listen, I went through Mama bitchin' in and out the kitchen
With probable cause, Papa was in and out of prison
You got soldiers, but you still gotta respect ours
We got more four five’s and nines than a deck of cards
You can take me out the 'hood, but can’t take the 'hood out me (Cause what?)
Cause I’m ghetto, I’m ghetto
Niggas hate when you do good
But when you broke, your friends and your enemies
They love you, they love you
«Chi Chi, get the yayo»
Picture me being crack, out of town, trips on the train, What!
«Chi Chi, get the yayo»
Picture me being crack (Tony Yayo!)
You can sniff me, cut me, I’ll turn you to a junkie
I’m the number one seller in the whole fuckin' country
Wall Street niggas, they cop me on the low
White boys don’t call me coke, they call me blow
It’s time to go, on the bus, the train, the plane
I’m smuggled, I’m nothin' but trouble
I’ll make your money double
Cook me in baking soda
I’ll turn your Hooprock into a new Range Rover
I’ll pay all your bills and fill your 'frigerator
Feed your family, turn your man to a hater
You can put me in your door panels or your stashbox
Put me in your Nikes, Timbs or Reeboks
If you cop three and a half you hustling backwards
Cop a hundred grams, you moving forwards
You tryin' to move more birds
…In PA all day, on the corner of Third
You can take me out the 'hood, but can’t take the 'hood out me (what?)
Cause I’m ghetto, I’m ghetto
Picture me polishin' pistols, I’m comin' to get you
The shells hit you, you screamin'
Think I’m playin'?
I mean it
Man, I done bought all these pistols
Lets get it poppin'
Start to wave em and boy shell cases get to droppin' (C'mon)
If Jeffrey’s down the corner, I got too much pride to hide
I’m outside, gun in my pocket just stunnin' I’m stoppin'
I’m dyin' to pop it, I’m young and I’m restless, you know the contestants
As the world turns, there’s lessons to be learned
Count all my blessin’s, clean up my weapons
I’m ready for war, the strong survive, the weak shall perish
I told you before, hoes they compliment me now like «50 nice chain»
Belagio, twenty grand in chips at the dice games
Ballin out, can’t stop gotta watch MTV, BET
Nigga you see me!
I wonder if you mad, cause I’m doin' good
Or cause niggas feelin' me more than you in your own 'hood
And it hurts cause you love 'em and they don’t love you back
Cause they know you just rappin' and you don’t bust a gat
You pussy
Yeah, explain it to the niggas in your hood nigga
They know you fuckin' frontin' nigga
Talkin' all that gangsta shit on a record, I see you nigga
Niggas know me nigga, ask around in my 'hood nigga
Read the «Daily News» nigga you see them talkin' about me nigga
I’m in the middle of all kinds of shit
Pussy, lets get it poppin'