50 Cent Lyrics

Album: Unknown

Follow Me Gangster Lyrics

(feat. G-Unit)

 [50]

 Yeah.. Ja, you ready? Drop that

 Ferrari F 50 style baby (yeah, yeah)

 I'ma show 'em how I do it (yeah, yeah)

 G-g-g-g-g G-UNIT!

 

 I keep hearin' niggas is happy, the D's come, niggas wit guns

 When I'm out on bail, ridin' wit' some new ones

 Big got hit in that passenger seat

 Pac got hit in that passenger seat

 Now I'm ridin' 'round in that passenger seat

 Come near the whip, I'm blastin' my heat

 It don't take long, for my juvenile delinquent thinkin' to sink in

 The consequences mean nothin', those semi auto's is bustin'

 Crack sellin', predicate villain, spit big words but I can't spell 'em

 Put a shot to your melon, that'll keep you're punk ass from chillin'

 Then I got that nine and a fo'-fo', that H2 is never full

 Bullet proof windows and doors, gangsta how 'bout yours

 Southside tatted on my back

 My last gun shipment got the whole hood strapped

 Now all I got is two 380's and a nine

 Nigga you can knock and tell the cops but you're dyin'

 

 [Chorus - repeat 2X]

 You're thicker than water

 Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa

 You're thicker than water

 Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa

 You're thicker than water

 Ouch! twizzy wizzy wa

 You can be a Blood or a Crip

 Nigga, you bitch

 Follow Me

 

 [Tony Yayo]

 I used to chill in the hood, to support the fiends

 But now I'm eatin' caviar instead of pork and beans

 I'm in the money green 7-45, with 7 shots in the fo' five

 Y'all niggas wanna die?

 I got a love affair, wit' violence and guns

 So this is for them gangstas, rep' where you from

 When I got O'd up, my heart turned colder

 That's why the mac react like a king cobra

 Now I'm jumpin' out of Rovers, in Gucci loafers

 Y'all niggas wanna stun? I'll bury you cockroaches

 Gimme one year, in this industry

 I'll buy enough guns to declare war on a small country

 

 [Chorus]

 

 [Lloyd Banks]

 Still walk around wit' the hammer boss

 Rope and a cross

 Hard times'll make a lil' nigga hate Santa Claus

 Your mountains is high, holdin' in Diana Ross

 I'm like a 2003 banana Porsche

 I don't gotta hide sluts, to get your ties cut

 They on my dick, 'cause I make groupies set off a fire truck

 My team in the cutt, packin' middle things

 I got more foreign shooters than the Sacramento Kings

 It's 8 class karats in the border

 I poke holes in plastic, to avoid a vaginal disorder

 I'm a savage on your daughter

 She ain't in the college dorm

 Then I guess I'm squirtin' on the cabin that you bought her

 I'm a heavy weed smoker, so the average is a quarter

 Brown colored from shit, he established in the water

 You got Banks on your jersey, you part of my fan base

 Just 'cause you pour syrup on shit, don't make it pancakes

 

 [Chorus]