PT2. & Bump Heads

(álbum: No Mercy, No Fear - 2002)

[50 Cent:]
I wanna be the reason you smile after you wipe ya tears
The reason you have the courage to confront ya fears
The reason there's two karats in each of ya ears
I splurge with the paper ma, I don't care
How you like it, pumps or boots, jeeps or coops
Minks or leathers, fifty fall off never
What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine
So when I shine, you shine
The finest champagne, we can toast to life
Crap table in Vegas, you can toss the dice
Don't let ya fears let you confuse saying, "Fifty's bad news."
I need you in my life girl, you're too much to lose

Nigga, you won't deny that I'ma fucking ride out
Then you'll bump heads with me
I'll put a hole in yo ass, you'll see
That it ain't cool to fuck with me
Nigga, you won't deny that I'ma fucking rider
Then you'll bump heads with me
I'll put a hole in yo ass, you'll see
That it ain't cool to fuck with me

[Tony Yayo:]
G-Unit, I roll with gorillas
Fuck a big body guard, I hang with pint size killas
I ain't trying to be dirty, still on the strip
I'm trying to be dirty, filthy rich
Give a nigga too much rope, he think he a cowboy
Give Tony too much dope, I'm pushing the big boy
V12, SL detailed
I rap and wait for them checks in the mail
If you hating, your due time life will expire
Cause my guns speak Jamaican, they be like "Bloodfire!"
Where I'm from, niggas be on some sleek shit
They hungry, use they lighters to cook their beef stick
And this 'dro and this nestle got me right
So my lungs be as black as Wesley Snipes
I'm on first class flights heading towards Vegas
Ya slot machines niggas, we crap table players
I roll a seven, cause we crap table players

Nigga, you won't deny that I'ma fucking ride out
Then you'll bump heads with me
I'll put a hole in yo ass, you'll see
That it ain't cool to fuck with me
Nigga, you won't deny that I'ma fucking rider
Then you'll bump heads with me
I'll put a hole in yo ass, you'll see
That it ain't cool to fuck with me

[Lloyd Banks:]
I know a lot of niggas want Banks gone
My kind of beef will fuck up ya grill and not the kind you put franks on
I'm hiding out, so my meals is home cooked
I deal with more ho's than a Chinese phone book
You're high with your messed up ratchets
I'm out blowing haze bags the size of ketchup packets
Fuck who's in ya ride, there's tools on my side
By the females standing with tattoos on they thighs
There's a lot of cats losing they wives
Cause next time I see 'em, they got black and blues on they eyes
Nah, I ain't ready to die, but I'm prepared
But I'd rather grow old with grey hairs in my beard
They know me in the field, the kid with the fans
That argue over my balls like Kobe and Shaquille
If you talking bout millions throw me in the deal
Big city, stadium tour, Rollie in the wheel motherfucker