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Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Can't really figure this clown out
Where's he from? Jamaica Queens, Cali, or down south?
And I could let an LA gun hit 'em up at Grape Street
Already told me you can't even fuck with 'em
I could let a New York knife poke 'em with one of my throw aways
But I don't wanna see no cop smoke 'em
Somebody tell Paul we riding
Or get ready to auction off a car he'd die in
[Verse 2]
Whenever we bump heads, since you like having people with you
Get you a hospital with bunk beds
Without Dr Dre, you would just make slow jams
Come up outta that witness protection program
Hoes don't really respect you, get in your place
If Big was alive, he'd a probably spit in your face
Nas been doing just fine without you
Pac probably woulda made an album about you
[Verse 3]
So I guess that just leaves me here to get rid of you
And rock Kim and them, they don't even consider you
Em know you ain't got nothing for Jada
And I know he appreciates all the money you made him
It's 2005, nobody fights fair
I just know an instrumental's your worst nightmare
But you tough and you bad, too bad you mad
Probably been in your old hood more than you have
[Verse 4]
Yeah, you sold more records than me
But in the streets, you gon' always be second to me
We was damn near feeling you
Even though your career's based of somebody damn near killing you
Shit you be doing ain't even considered rapping to us
This is probably the best thing to happen to us
Best wankster, Internet gangster
Magazine mobster shit on your whole roster
[Verse 5]
Get read to say Hail Mary's and Our Father's
Get out your black suits and hard bottoms
And don't worry, I got 'em
He ain't a problem child, just a child with a problem
[Verse 6]
Why can't you be man enough (We love you, ****, let's go)
To tell me where you're coming from
[Verse 7]
D-Block, don't think it, ****
Take a piss in your formula fifty
Drink it, ****, get shot out your Reeboks, ****
Got shot and ain't shot none back
You's a beotch, ****
If I woulda got shot on grandma's stoop
I woulda add somebody grandma duke
In the streets, they say, 50, who shot ya?
Named three **** as soon as he came out the doctor
[Verse 8]
And you far from a gangster, ****
You was talk about yourself when you made wankster, ****
Now listen, I work out, cocked guns on the DVD
Run around with cops from Homicide on TNT
****, you can suck my dick
Come around without cops, shit's on
You gon' get touched quick
'Cause I was at the Vibe when it jumped off
Put fifty grand up, you pussy, you ain't even lift a hand up
[Verse 9]
Man stabs some, police grab some
But besides that, I ain't seen nobody man up
Shit, what the plot is about?
'Cause you know that you don't need a dentist to get shot in the mouth
And the hood hates your shit, but you hot in the South
It's the crackers that buy the album, what's the plotting about?
Many men make a wish, but we ain't many men
So you gon' get death when we let them semi's spit
[Verse 10]
Why can't you be man enough
To tell me where you're coming from
Written by: Sam Phillips