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