300 Bars N Runnin

[Intro: children talking about 50's music] [Kid #1] My mom took me to Sam Goody I wanted to buy a 50 Cent CD I took that shit home That shit was wack like a motherfucker I fuck with Game [Kid #2] I like 50 Cent He reminds me SpongeBob And Tony Yayo is Blue's Clues And Lloyd Banks is Dora the Explorer They're my friends Psyche [Kid #3] I went down one of them bodega shits right there in Harlem Got me a bootleg Lloyd Banks and Young Buck CD Took that shit home, put it in my boombox Thought I was 'bout to be on some Radio Raheem shit Man that shit sound like some Vanessa Williams in '88 I mean Olivia cute but they say that bitch a man So this Black Wall Street for life now G-G-G-Unot! [Verse: The Game] 300 Bars and Runnin' Just loan me your ears for fifteen minutes Walk with me Here the breakdown Pass the doja, .45 in the holster Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them niggas, they toy soldiers Oh, that boy colder than Hova unless he sober Like I'm the president, but this ain't the Takeover Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a little closer Before you call this a diss, and you make Hova pissed Why would I wanna do that? When I'm just the new cat That was taught if a nigga take shots to shoot back Defending his yard, yeah, standing his ground I'm saying if you gon' retire, then hand me the crown Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in Madison Square Watch everybody sleep through it We can go bar for bar, I'll let the lines speak to 'em What they say? Bleek is over, let Chris and Neef do it They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em silly What you thought? Them was the only niggas rapped in Philly? See them niggas with the sunnis leave you wrapped in Philly Then dash in groups like Beanie Mac in Philly Cosmic Kev called, said Curtis Jack in Philly Make a U-turn, I gotta go back to Philly I forgot my cheesesteak, that's what I told the cops So they wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the Glock And I can't forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the cops Even I was ready to die, when I heard that he was shot What's beef? Beef is when I murk you on the spot Labels signing anything, still searching for they Pac I put purple on the block, so I don't feel threatened When Ludacris say he coming for the number one spot Ask 50, it get lonely on top, you can hate me Or love me, but now the cops the only homies he got When it's beef we eat, when we hear bologna, we pop You sell records but a G-G-G-U-not Acting big on the radio, to me you not You can ask Mister Cee who hot Tony Yayo, I bet 10 G's you flop Run up on that new 300C you got Stop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding stop And I hope you blackout before you see the cops I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Cedar Block But what I got in my high tops'll make your breathing stop I'm a gangsta slash rapper, check your CD shop I'm like Elvis in there, they can't believe he dropped Now I'm moving on up to George and Weezy's spot I picked up where my homeboy Eazy stopped I saw the west coast, put the shit on my back Sprayed Aftermath on it, then loosened the straps It get hot in here, let Lucifer rap Bring hell to niggas when Dre producing a track Take it to the streets, put the duece-duece to your hat Then call the pigs, tell them the rooster is back Call Jadakiss, tell him that duke is back I'm still by your side, no matter who comes strapped Fuck Lloyd Banks, it ain't about who could rap It's about when the Ruger clap, is rufus back? I see what you thinkin', you want me to die, is that so? Now you left leaning back thanks to Fat Joe We got reservations in heaven, you ready? Let's go Drop them off, then pop Cristal with Esco I'ma say he hit me first if me and Dre talk All Nas said back was he had a braveheart Now that's the eulogy, beefing is kinda foolish See niggas running their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me But quit the yapping before I proceed to clapping And you gon' see the captain with plans of getting me captured Even behind bars, I'm still gon' shine I'm ten years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm fine Then I go right back, nigga, I pop minds How you gon' drop Olivia? You only drop dimes I knew you changed when you started sleeping in that vest, dawg I don't need 50 Cent, my niggas make collect calls 1-800-split a faggot nigga wig He got G-Unit wings, throw 'em off the Queens Bridge Now your career is over-career is over We in Q.B., banging C.N.N. in the Rover T-O-N-Y, that's Capone n' NORE You ain't the talk of New York, your sixteens is boring Take that shit off nigga, go back to PC And tell 50 Cent to send you a copy of Beef 3 I'm airing their ass out on D-V-D You wanna rhyme like Lloyd Banks, repeat after me "I'm a G-Unit toy soldier on Sesame Street Doing voice overs," bitch ass nigga Need a rhyme dictionary to rehearse his lines Sound like Oscar the Grouch with them nursery rhymes We was in the studio when I first got signed He got stuck, he called 50, tried to borrow some lines That's the wrong nigga, when you need help with your rhyme All he gon' tell you is say G-Unit one more time Got mad 'cause I ain't wanna make your beef mine You got lucky with Ja, why you ain't go at Shyne? He freestyled from the pen, that's just the fact Said he'd put you with your mom and you ain't fucked with that Then you lied about your pops, he never bust no cap Like father, like son, go ask Busta that I knew from the beginning not to trust those cats I'd kill 'em all if I could bring Justo back The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggas saying my name like Mike Jones The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggas saying my name like Mike Jones The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggas saying my name like Mike Jones I said The underground is mine, I treat it like home It's the reason niggas saying my name like Mike Jones And I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and screw it Do whatever to it, put it in the store, the shit moving Gave 'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do it Came with two hundred, nigga this is more than music Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like summer Both feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin' I beef with any nigga, say my name, motherfucka, I'm gunnin' You can put it on Skee if you want it I'll air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue And watch them shits sell out like a Air Jordan shoe I told Funk Flex when I catch the nigga Whoo Kid We gon' see if he know how to DJ with bruised ribs Don't hit me on the Sidekick asking what you did Get a gun or ask 50's police to use his 'Cause Bloods gonna get ya Blood-Blood-Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain That .380 spill brains, when I pop shots Outside N.Y., in front of hip-hop cops Or broad day in L.A., I'ma tell Em and Dre This nigga bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to say Took me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes So I'ma take him out his house, put the beam on his face Drop him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakes 'Cause when you fucking with Jayceon, you can bleed in the lake For caking off niggas on them CD's and tapes Ask him to scratch a record, you will see that he is fake If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cheesecake Take the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant Replay Now the instant replay, I mean the machine That G-Unit use every time 50 on stage singing like "Bitches only feel your shit just a lil' bit Niggas only feel your shit just a lil' bit" On my album, 50 helped me just a lil' bit Only on two songs, now back to some killer shit, My clips bananas, I kill a gorilla quick Beating on your chest, I see to your death, yep Tell Ecko to make him a suit Tell Reebok to make him some boots, get him a head band To cover the holes in his head, he a dead man For thinking he can walk through muddy waters like Redman Banks blacked out and let the gun blam Without a M-E-T-H-O-D Man So the lieutenant gotta ask for his strings Take my advice, never wear Air Max to the bing Unless you one of the Bloods or a Latin King 'Cause if you left with the Aryans your ass'll sting And your cellmate is a 25 to lifer They'll stab you in Folsom, then fuck you on Rikers And life goes on Now back to the coward of the hour, who lied and said he write my songs He told Vibe Dre was gonna leave me on the shelf So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept them for yourself Nigga stop acting tough before I stand over you Show you how The Documentary live on top of The Massacre Make a move, I'm blasting, add those to the last ones Ten shots from the MAC, empty the rest in the passenger Fase yelling that's enough, let the coroner bag him up Throw in Makaveli and lift the doors on the Maganum Gun smoking, Fase think I'm locin' backing up Reverse the '05 hearse on 41st and traffic, what Hip-hop cops on my left, but I pass 'em up The Dodge got a Hemi in it, Game got Remy in 'em In and out of lanes like a New York cab I miss the old king that New York had Who's this fake nigga on pictures with the Jake nigga? Got his crew starving 'cause he ate the whole cake, nigga He ain't Nas, ain't Big, ain't Jigga If he ain't Cube or Pac then who you got? We getting tired of you talkin about who you shot I'll use another six bars to tell you who you not You ain't 50 Cent, he went out like a gangsta You went out with Vivica, three months after Wanksta Get Rich or Die Tryin, we thought you was hot Now the same nigga wanna take us to the Candy Shop C'mon man, what happened to the thug? Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd Banks hugging Nigga got mad when The Game start buzzing So fuck making friends now I'm into throwing slugs Olivia talking about we a family, Game had to go Nigga, I'll smack that hoe like I'm Jacki-O 'Cause I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you I don't wanna shake hands or wear your G-Unit shoes Don't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your group Just wanna sit here and wait (for the summer) To be gone, so I can head back to the block Fresh white Nike Airs and the matching Sox fitted Pull the brim low, if they don't get it Bentley Coup on gold Daytons, I was the first one with it Four times platinum, I done been there and did it Came in the game and shitted, then wiped my ass with it They say the Lord giveth, Lord taketh away So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll wait for the day Niggas hating on me, they don't want Jayceon to play And the D.A. waiting on Jayceon to make a mistake So they can put me in the squad car and lock me away Give me a odd job in the pen for minimal pay Let me out so I can drive down criminal way Pushing the rock, nah, this ain't no subliminal, Jay The summer too hot and I just want the winter to stay 'Cause I'm a cold nigga when I put the pen to the page Similar to them shells going into my gauge I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them into grenades And Just Blaze, 'cause the boy got game Like I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain Now back to reality, my gun and my vest And if diamonds are forever, then I'm Kanye West Take a look at my chest, a hundred thou' wet Jacob Whole crew got chains, a hundred thou' can't break 'em And the flow is hot like thou with Satan And the only thing I got spinning is Daytons The hotter I get, the more willing to snake 'em So soon as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em Compton swap meet to get me some All-Stars When Game in the house, they callin' all cars 'Cause they heard about what went on in D.C Heard about Hot 97, my beef with 50 Now tell me do he got a conscience? I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in his nonsense Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this conference I'd rather be pushing rock like Samantha Ronson 50 whispered in my ear, like we still bonding We ain't friends, I'm just acting like Charles Bronson Middle finger in the air, one hand on my Johnson Hip-Hop police on me like I'm the convict What happened to the old school? I thought it was rhyming Doug E. Fresh and Dana Dane on the corner like Common Now that ain't common, it's more like Top Ramen The flow is noodles, I throw it up like vomit And I still shine like diamonds, they kicked me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like Rodman It's still Aftermath, two feet in the paint Should I be mad? I ain't I'm supposed to stop, I can't Because I'm in the hood politicking, Impala liftin' And I keep a black four-five on the side of my Prada denim Chip on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prison Dollar vision, blow a hundred thou' like my wallet missing Then re-up like Kim before the d-cup Continuously getting money with my feet up Chasing the throne, here my black Air Force I said fuck Benzino and got the cover of The Source, Feel me? If not then I guess you gotta kill me But you ain't gon' do that, so, motherfucker, move back While I do B.I.G. and Pac impersonations on two tracks When I wake the dead, everybody remove hats We miss y'all, can I get a hand clap? Now back to rap and why I gotta stay strapped? On that murder T-I-P, kill you ASAP They don't know which hole to patch up when the K clap I tried to spare you Young Buck, now it's time for payback It go, how you from Cashville but you ain't got no cash, nigga? Said my name, now that's your fucking ass, nigga Kept your mouth shut and I gave you a pass, nigga Now I gotta lay you down like the last nigga Buck, buck, buck from my AK-47 This nigga playing with his life, I might have to put him in Heaven Tryna play the game, talking shit up on the stereo Prepare for burials when I'm reincarnating Harry-O And you don't want that David 'cause you love your life Get my Vibe? When it's war, he pull out butter knifes Motherfucker, I'ma show you who the gangsta All you do is murder ink, now who the wanksta? When Suge had you, you were stranded on the row Juve left you for dead and went back to the N.O 50 heard you on the tour bus and felt your little flow Then he made you temporary replacement for Yayo You a bitch and that's hard to swallow And you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit chain in Chicago I call my nigga Jojo to get it back He had the shit in his hands and you ain't had the ten stacks Picture that, I thought we was G-Unit Then you ran and told 50 that I did the shit Ask C-Murder, the boy ain't hard to find I told Monica when I catch him, the boy is mine Take one shot of Brandy and pop Watch his panties drop when I run inside the Candy Shop Fuck you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the cops And Olivia, I mean for a man, she hot Now I'm running out of breath, like I just beatboxed Got twenty bars to go, lay it down like sheet rock Don't worry about the flow, the boy know he hot Hurricanes in stores November, nigga, fuck Reeboks I'm fly like a hummingbird on a tree top The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new Pac, I need three spots 280 in, ain't no getting me back I'm yelling, "Fuck the world," on my victory lap Remember first it was Buddens, then it was Bleek Now it's whoever, motherfucker, yeah, who want beef? Now whenever, motherfucker, who wanna see me? In the coffin, body exhausted, resting in peace You don't want war, nigga, you want peace So give 'em the piece, capisce, let 'em rest in peace From West to East, the flow is outdatable, irreplaceable Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing with Satan And I slipped 'em the ace, so you cannot replace 'em If Eazy ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon A king in the making and the throne is for the taking So I climb the mountain top and put my stake in Got the weight of the world on my shoulder Not a nigga, nor a hoodrat bitch can stop me from taking it over This is crack music, go get the baking soda 300 Bars and Runnin', nigga, the wait is over I'm gone