Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Smoke, artist - 50 Cent. Date of issue: 02.06.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Smoke |
| Nigga you shit on me, I shit on you |
| You put a hit on me, I put a hit on you |
| An eye for an eye nigga |
| Survive the shots or die nigga |
| Get 'em Banks! |
| They can’t hold me |
| I’m Lloyd Banks the one and on-ly |
| Not your buddy, not your pal, not your ho-mey |
| But ain’t a government around that can control me Oh no!!! |
| Uhh, I’m on that «Doggystyle"shit, man I don’t love a ho Poppa wasn’t 'round, so I had to let my brother know |
| Never stay at center, play the back and let your money grow |
| Most them niggas wouldn’t be around if you was bummy yo Southside Jamaica neighbor yeah that’s where I come from |
| If you see a nigga with me then there’s more than one gun |
| Fly straight soldier, ain’tcha tired of bein the dumb one |
| Or are you satisfied bein another nigga’s Dun-Dunn |
| We all know friendships turnin sour when you gettin it Some niggas hate me in the hood, but I don’t owe them niggas shit |
| Smilin all up my face like I don’t know them niggas sick |
| But I can care less, I’m on the Island and I’m gettin rich |
| Walk it and talk it, spit it how I live it nigga |
| Came from the country, Dirty South get it nigga |
| Feds try and question me, they run up in my ho-tel |
| They said there was a shootin, but they found no shells |
| New York City hell they throwin niggas under jails |
| I got love for dem and I ain’t even from dere |
| Now bust a shot for dem boys on da block |
| I can feel your pain nigga, I’m still in the game nigga |
| There’s somethin bout the sound of a trey-pound |
| That make me pull up, hop out, and make a nigga lay down |
| See every time we 'round, you hear some shots go off |
| And niggas get they chains snatched when they tryin to show off |
| Shootouts in broad day, we do it the mob way |
| And come to find out, these niggas softer than Sade' |
| I’mma keep livin my life with a pistol in my palm |
| And a wrist full of ice, you can call me a Don motherfucker |
| We got the Hei-ny |
| So make one wrong move and you’re dy-ing |
| Ain’t no time for coppin a plea and cry-ing |
| Cause my niggas ain’t gon’stop ridin' |
| So you gone |
| I got a handgun habit, nigga front I’ll let you have it When the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at it |
| I’m allergic to the feathers on these bird-ass niggas (yea) |
| Front and I’ll put your brains on that curb fast nigga |
| I ain’t a marksman, one spark and I spray shit |
| Nuff rounds from that H-K, I don’t play bitch (uh-huh) |
| Move like I’m militant, back on that gorilla shit |
| Moody, disrespectful, unruly, but niggas can’t move me (yea) |
| I squeeze 'til I run out of ammo, if it’s a problem it’s handled |
| I have your people pourin our liquor and lightin candles |
| You fuck around I blow your brains on my New York Times |
| Run home, turn to the sports section and read your mind |
| It’s crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bust |
| First there’s crime scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse |
| We don’t go to funerals, but we’ll go to your wake fam |
| Do your body all banged up, you made a mistake man |