Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ballin', artist - G-Unit. Album song The Beast Is G Unit, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 02.03.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: G Unit
Song language: English
Ballin' |
| Until God calls for me I’mma keep ballin', keep on ballin' |
| To my niggas and my bitches looking down on me |
| I know y’all see me when I’m ballin' |
| You know I got to keep ballin' |
| Till the FEDs come we ballin' out |
| Y’all niggas y’all know what this about when I’m ballin' |
| That stash house, we in and out |
| We ballin', ballin', ballin', we shot callin' |
| Versace down from my head to my neck |
| Pootie Tang with the belt game, show some respect |
| All these bitches on my dick, same, old shit |
| R.I.P. |
| to Pimp C, I’m the same, old pimp |
| Fly over seven different time zones |
| I got a big booty bitch up in shroom zone |
| Got emergency blunts when I come home |
| Cause if rap or weed I’ll have your lungs gone |
| Yeah, Malibu beaches, unlaced bikini bottoms |
| Mo' money, mo' problems, fo' fo' will solve 'em |
| Just every day I’m with a stank sip, 30 in the clip |
| Riding through that Gaza Strip, kill a nigga quick |
| Hit a nigga with my race car, Tony Yayo turn to Tony Stewart |
| Rap niggas die over music |
| Just got this brand, new chopper and I’m dying to use it |
| Dry snitching niggas testifying in their music |
| I seen niggas last five minutes then they lose it |
| Wrap the sheet around his neck, he said, «this time I couldn’t do it» |
| A platinum nigga in the penitentiary going, «do it» |
| Put Prada on the prison yard, started getting to it |
| Two zero’s, six, six, nine, 'o seven five |
| That’s the number that they gave me when I arrived |
| It’s just another form of slavery that’s in disguise |
| To all my niggas locked up just trying to survive, I know why |
| I’m yelling money over bitches, money over everything |
| Money got me everything, every watch, every chain |
| Every brick, every whip, kicks with designer names |
| I used to hustle Texas whose child I can claim |
| Paid all my mama’s bills so how can she complain? |
| Call my bitches dimes, I treat 'em like loose change |
| Call me Brian in the clutch, ballin' with my English brain |
| No love, got it out the mud, my shirt ain’t got a stain |
| Iced out Rollie, three fingers reppin' Rida Gang |
| Entire streets in the streets so them hoes know I came |
| Ballin' on these hoes all the time |
| You got your kids, don’t need mine |
| Word to my favorite design, my mama raised me to shine |
| These C-notes play in my mind, they on rewind |
| I am top five alive, I’ve been picked out by God |
| I’m never not on my job, too hard to argue that |
| Shining my records like, «where's my target at?» |
| Came through your stereo, feel me charging back |
| I owe you 15 bums for that |
| Stains in the garden, hate when they all go black |
| Cracks in the armor, this reach further than rap |
| Before we start react, mob attack |
| Stacks or don’t call me, rain down 'til nobody standing |
| Won’t show no snipe for your army |