So Simple (feat. 50 Cent)

(Yo, one, two)

(Nonstop)

(Check me out right here, 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 hoes and more cheddar

G-Unit move around with them pounds and Berettas (yeah)

Yeah, faggot, if I want it, I'm gon' have it (yeah)

Regardless if it's handed to me, or I got to grab it (ah-ah)

Don't make a ass out of yourself trying to stop me

I'm cocky, rap's Rocky, **** you're sloppy

You know that I'm, eight levels above you ****

I'll club you ****, I never heard of you ****

Ugly ****, I'm the wrong one to provoke (ah-ha)

You rattin' on **** is only going to leave you smoked

So the only thing left now, is toasts 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

I got a industry gangstress, that argues, and steams the reefer

And flip when I call her bitch, like she Queen Latifah

Now, all the vehicles is long enough

To stash the street sweeper (ah-ha)

This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker (yeah)

I'm sliding through the raucous, with Prada on the chuckers

So the spring break hoes, home from college wanna fuck us (whoo)

I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckers

I sic Rottweilers on you fuckers, cops following to cuff us

Top dollars to discuss this, whole lot of zeros

'Cause when it come to paper, I blow the soul out a hero (yeah)

I'mma break before I lay in the floor buried, besides (ah-ha)

Every rapper ain't a star, and every plaid ain't Burberry (ah-ha)

You can't tame Lloyd, we're smoking by the big screen

Changing the channel, looks like I'm playing the Game Boy

I know the watch bothering your vision

But reach, and I put a dot on your head

Like it's part of your religion

Why party with a pigeon? I'm blowing a ten

'Cause Bush's handing out flyers, for a party in the prison (ah-ha)

I'm in the Gucci vest, with the green and red straps

I'm the last rapper to scare **** since Craig Mack (ah)

Now every morning's a fast start

But it ain't a problem getting dressed

'Cause my closet got more aisles than Pathmark (yeah)

Run when we starting a raid (yeah)

Or leave with twelve shells in your mouth, like a carton of eggs

I'm a young pimp, pardon my age

I don't got long hair, but if I did

Should be part of my braids (yeah)

**** find out what club they at, take them with us

And run trains on them, like a subway map

Your advance is a grey Acura, see these record labels

Got most artists getting fucked like the gay rapper

I go to college on the tour

I'm goin down in history ****, next to Wallace and Shakur (ah-ha)

Keep your ammo clean, Tech's polished in the drawer (whoo)

Camera's by the hampers that monitor the floor

By now, you probably heard of me, fresh out of surgery

Flashy as a fuck, you going to have to murder me

Burglary, I'm leaving with your Nikes burgundy

White tee, burgundy, you match now, back down

**** love to hate you, but love you when you disappear (ah-ha)

Catch me on a boat, with weed, smoke and fishing gear (oh)

Heavy when I tow, seen notes from different years (oh)

Bezzy and the rope, remotes and lifting chairs (oh)

You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya

I send cars to your crib like I'm a cab dispatcher (yeah)

You're better off with the stupid guys, lookin for a coupe to drive

You ain't gettin' nothing, but your french fries supersized

It's a damn shame y'all still local

I'm in a million dollar studio laying my vocals, ****

Still in the projects, ****, you ain't going nowhere

You gon' fucking be there for the rest of your motherfuckin' life

And your mama say, I'm supposed to tell you somethin'

To encourage you, somethin' positive, alright

Well, I ain't gon' lie to you motherfucker, you ain't going nowhere

Go get yourself, eh, pig, get on the motherfuckin' curb

Fuckin' dirt bag