Songwriter: Lloyd Banks Young Buck 50 Cent The Game
[Intro]
50 Cent uh
Lloyd Banks uh, (yeah)
Young Buck uh, (uhu)
Game nigga, G-Unit
It's easy man
It's easy man
[Verse 1: 50 Cent]
Ayo, I switch my hustle, no more dice games, dilemmas
You see blood in the snow after the shots in December
Niggas is broke, that's why they stay ice-grilling
I'm in the Aspens, laughing, snowmobiling
With a beautiful bitch, she's chocolate, athletic
Ass poke out like Serena, ask Banks, he's seen her
Plus she's hood - she ain't Hollywood, remind me of Trina
D's come, shorty even down to hold out a nina
G stands for gangster, UNIT stand for 'U Niggas In Trouble'
Better lock and load on the double
G-UNIT!
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
I'm so sorry
Niggas all fucked up they ain't getting money in the hood
I'm so sorry
I lied to you, say I let you hold something homie, if I could
I'm so sorry
{I can't help you out nigga, nah, I could, but I don't want to help you out, nigga}
I'm so, I'm so sorry
[Verse 2: The Game]
I'm in that '67 glasshouse
In and out of lanes
Murder on my mind
Old English running through my veins
I think about Eazy and to ease my pain, I drink a 40oz
G-Unit soaking in the rain
I came into this world both feet in the dirt
No purple label, no button-up shirts
No harm intended, no subliminal disses
But hard facts separate the men from the bitches
I would of popped your ass if I thought you was worthy
Looking like Boy George in that Larry Bird jersey
Buck pass the dutch, I'm blowing that Bob Marley
Hop off the G-4, let's have a Boston tech party
G-UNIT!
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
I'm so sorry
You niggas don't sound that good when you step in the booth
I'm so sorry
Nigga that it hurts but goddamnit you know it's the truth
I'm so sorry
That seeing me do good is making your punk-ass sick
I'm so sorry
That I ain't got room for all you niggers on my dick
I'm so sorry
[Verse 3: Lloyd Banks]
A snap of a finger, make your guys cripple
I came up with this on the shitter, nigga
I handlebars like a bicycle
Scars make your eyes trickle
As stiff as a icicle
The mufflers silence the Lamb, that's why I whistle
Fire your stylists, you know that's wrong
For letting you put that Footlocker noback on
Around here, niggas get shot for performing that song
The hoes cut their eyebrows off and draw them back on
They're trying to merk me yo, that's why 50 bought me a Trey Pound with a nose longer than Pinocchio
Pop shit, I'll stroke your slut
And as soon as her mouth open up, what? Same colour as Coconut!
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
I'm so sorry
You ain't from Compton, you ain't got a flow like Game
I'm so sorry
You ain't Lloyd Banks, mixtape artist of the year man
I'm so sorry
You ain't Young Buck, you don't let the gun buck, son you butt
I'm so sorry
You get out of line, I'll personally fuck you up
I'm so sorry
[Verse 4: Young Buck]
We don't chase no hoes
You dream about it while we're making dough
I'll have a hundred fucking Haitians come and cut your throat
I still touch the dope
Nigga, my ears to the street
I got some niggas from your own hood working for me
You've got your hand out, can't even bail your man out
Real know real, Because the bitch niggas stand out
Nobody gon' miss you when the Desert Eagle hit you
Just do like Pac said, pour out a little liquor
Picture getting your chest blown open and no one there to save you
Your momma got to wake up making funeral arrangements
You know who to play with, and we ain't the ones
This G-Unit shit is deeper than prick in your thumb
Motherfucker...
[Outro]
Yeah
I wanna take the time out to apologise to all ya'll niggas that put records out this year, that didn't sell no records, you know...
I'm so sorry, hahaha
Ah man, I don't even know how to explain it, pimp
You can't get no money while I'm around just to save shit like the block
All I did is switch my hustle motherfucker
50 Cent uh
Lloyd Banks uh, (yeah)
Young Buck uh, (uhu)
Game nigga, G-Unit
It's easy man
It's easy man
[Verse 1: 50 Cent]
Ayo, I switch my hustle, no more dice games, dilemmas
You see blood in the snow after the shots in December
Niggas is broke, that's why they stay ice-grilling
I'm in the Aspens, laughing, snowmobiling
With a beautiful bitch, she's chocolate, athletic
Ass poke out like Serena, ask Banks, he's seen her
Plus she's hood - she ain't Hollywood, remind me of Trina
D's come, shorty even down to hold out a nina
G stands for gangster, UNIT stand for 'U Niggas In Trouble'
Better lock and load on the double
G-UNIT!
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
I'm so sorry
Niggas all fucked up they ain't getting money in the hood
I'm so sorry
I lied to you, say I let you hold something homie, if I could
I'm so sorry
{I can't help you out nigga, nah, I could, but I don't want to help you out, nigga}
I'm so, I'm so sorry
[Verse 2: The Game]
I'm in that '67 glasshouse
In and out of lanes
Murder on my mind
Old English running through my veins
I think about Eazy and to ease my pain, I drink a 40oz
G-Unit soaking in the rain
I came into this world both feet in the dirt
No purple label, no button-up shirts
No harm intended, no subliminal disses
But hard facts separate the men from the bitches
I would of popped your ass if I thought you was worthy
Looking like Boy George in that Larry Bird jersey
Buck pass the dutch, I'm blowing that Bob Marley
Hop off the G-4, let's have a Boston tech party
G-UNIT!
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
I'm so sorry
You niggas don't sound that good when you step in the booth
I'm so sorry
Nigga that it hurts but goddamnit you know it's the truth
I'm so sorry
That seeing me do good is making your punk-ass sick
I'm so sorry
That I ain't got room for all you niggers on my dick
I'm so sorry
[Verse 3: Lloyd Banks]
A snap of a finger, make your guys cripple
I came up with this on the shitter, nigga
I handlebars like a bicycle
Scars make your eyes trickle
As stiff as a icicle
The mufflers silence the Lamb, that's why I whistle
Fire your stylists, you know that's wrong
For letting you put that Footlocker noback on
Around here, niggas get shot for performing that song
The hoes cut their eyebrows off and draw them back on
They're trying to merk me yo, that's why 50 bought me a Trey Pound with a nose longer than Pinocchio
Pop shit, I'll stroke your slut
And as soon as her mouth open up, what? Same colour as Coconut!
[Chorus: 50 Cent]
I'm so sorry
You ain't from Compton, you ain't got a flow like Game
I'm so sorry
You ain't Lloyd Banks, mixtape artist of the year man
I'm so sorry
You ain't Young Buck, you don't let the gun buck, son you butt
I'm so sorry
You get out of line, I'll personally fuck you up
I'm so sorry
[Verse 4: Young Buck]
We don't chase no hoes
You dream about it while we're making dough
I'll have a hundred fucking Haitians come and cut your throat
I still touch the dope
Nigga, my ears to the street
I got some niggas from your own hood working for me
You've got your hand out, can't even bail your man out
Real know real, Because the bitch niggas stand out
Nobody gon' miss you when the Desert Eagle hit you
Just do like Pac said, pour out a little liquor
Picture getting your chest blown open and no one there to save you
Your momma got to wake up making funeral arrangements
You know who to play with, and we ain't the ones
This G-Unit shit is deeper than prick in your thumb
Motherfucker...
[Outro]
Yeah
I wanna take the time out to apologise to all ya'll niggas that put records out this year, that didn't sell no records, you know...
I'm so sorry, hahaha
Ah man, I don't even know how to explain it, pimp
You can't get no money while I'm around just to save shit like the block
All I did is switch my hustle motherfucker
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