Victory

[Intro: The Notorious B.I.G. sample + (DJ Whoo Kid)] {*gunshot*} {*gunshot*} One, one, two (Non-stop) Yo, check me out right here yo [Verse 1: 50 Cent] Yo, yo we can't stay alive forever So if shit hit the fan then we might as well die together I'm high as ever, more holes and more cheddar G-Unit move around with them pounds and Berettas Yea faggot, if I want it I'm gon' have it Regardless if it's handed to me or I gotta grab it Don't make a ass outta yaself tryin' to stop me I'm cocky, rap's Rocky, nigga you sloppy You know that I'm, 8 levels above you, nigga I'll club you, nigga, I never heard of you, nigga, ugly nigga I'm the wrong one to provoke You rattin' on niggas is only gon' leave you smoked So the only thing left now is tools for these cowards I got no friends, fuck most of these cowards They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers [Verse 2: Lloyd Banks] I got a industry gangstress, that argues, and steams the reefer And flip when I call her bitch, like she Queen Latifah Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the street sweeper This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker We slidin through the ruckus, with Prada on the chuckus So the spring break hoes home from college wanna fuck us I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas I sic Rottweilers on you fuckas, cops followin' to cuff us Top dollars to discuss this, whole lot of zeros When it comes to paper, I blow a soul out a hero I'ma break before I lay floor buried Besides, every rapper ain't a star, and every plaid ain't Burberry You can't tame Lloyd, smokin' by the big screen Changin' the channel, looks like I'm playin' the Game Boy I know the watch botherin' ya vision But reach, and I'll put a dot on ya head like it's part of your religion Why party with a pigeon? I'm blowin' a 10 'cause Bush handin' flyers for a party in a prison I'm in the Gucci vest, with the green and red straps I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack Now every morning's a fast start And there ain't problem gettin' dressed 'cause my closet got more aisles than Pathmark Run, move startin' a wave Or leave with 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs I'm the young pimp pardon my age I don't got long hair but if I did she be partin' my braids Niggas find what club they at Take 'em with us, and run a train on 'em like a subway map Your advance is grey Acura See these record labels got most artists gettin' fucked like the gay rapper I go to college on the tour I'm goin' down in history nigga, next to Wallace and Shakur I keep ya ammo clean, text polished in the drawer Camera's by the hamper that monitor the floor By now, you probably heard of me Fresh outta surgery, flashy as a fuck, you gon' have to murder me Burglary, I'm leavin' with your Nikes burgundy, white tee: burgundy You match now, back down Niggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear Catch me on the boat with weed smoke and fishin' gear Heavy when I toke, C-notes from different years Bezzy and the rope, remotes and liftin chairs You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya I send cars to your crib like I'm a cab dispatcher You better off with the stupid guys, lookin' for a coupe to drive You ain't gettin nuttin' but ya french fries supersized It's a damn shame y'all still local I'm in a million dollar studio layin my vocals, nigga [Outro: 50 Cent] Still in the projects nigga, you ain't goin' nowhere You gon' fuckin' be there for the rest of your muthafuckin' life And your momma sayin': I'm supposed to tell you somethin' To encourage you, somethin' positive, aight: Well, I ain't gon' lie to you muthafucka, he ain't goin' nowhere Get yourself a beer, and get on the fuckin' curb {*gunshot*} You fuckin' dirt bag {*gunshot*}