G Unit, A, B
You can't fuck with me
We from the Harlem streets
Don't talk me to death
Picture me rolling Range Rover
Same color your Air Force Ones
White on white, ya like? Red I flight the night
From L.A. to N.Y. I'm Harlem bound
You see how bitches tense up, when Scarlett 'round
Niggas get the heart to holla while we up in the club
But get intimidated when they see me sitting on dubs
I hear 'em whispering, "That ain't a man, shit that's her"
She roll with them G Unit niggas, that's what's up
Disrespect me, I'll have niggas blast ya up
Take my advice, don't let ya peoples grass ya up
I got a fetish for the chips, 20's for the six hollows for the clips
Try me, if you think I'm playing bitch
And the police we'll have another crime scene taker
Jim Star crush your head, give your ass a shape-up
Uptown niggas known for the money they make
Everybody ain't shook, you see doing the shake
The boss spending ends
Saying, "Gimme that Benz, 20 inch rims, and four TV's"
The snitch in the precinct saying
"He sell X, he sell techs, and he sell D"
The balla by the bar saying
"Everybody drink, the best champagne, it's all on me"
Snitch in the back of the police car
Pointing out the window saying, "He robbed me"
1, 2, 3, 4
Lloyd Banks' in the house
Now get the fuck on the floor I slid through the front door
With the 9 and the velor, a cal in my pocket
You will, I'ma pop it, I'm down for a profit
I'm ghetto as hell, you can't you tell?
My road dog, under the jail getting frustrating mail
So I'm drinking and smoking thinking and hoping
This cell gon' open, you can dance next to me
But don't throw an elbow, I'll throw one back
And leave blood on your Shell Toes
Hell no I ain't paying for pleasure
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