Music Video
DJ Kay Slay feat. 50 Cent - 50 Shot Ya - The Streetsweeper Vol. 1
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
DJ Kay Slay
Performer
50 Cent
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Curtis James Jackson
Composer
George Spivey
Composer
Lynne Collins
Composer
James Brown
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
DJ Kay Slay
Executive Producer
DJ Scratch
Producer
Joey I.E.
Co-Executive Producer
James Cruz
Mastering Engineer
Carlisle Young
Recording Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Yo, yo, yo
What the fuck popping, man?
This the Drama King, man
Yo, who there, who that, who there, man?
(Yeah, it's 50 Cent, ****, what's up?)
Harlem to Queens, motherfuckers
What's up, ****?
Man, I'll smack the fucking shit out your favorite DJ, man
Y'all know what the fuck it is, man
(Yeah, yeah, and say something, ya bitch-ass ****)
Yeah, street justice, motherfucker
(Yeah, go 'head, say something)
Yo, yo, check it out, 50
You handle the bitch-ass rap ****
I'ma handle the bitch-ass DJ ****
(Alright, alright)
We gon' bring justice to the game
(That's how we gon' put it down)
Straight, motherfuckers
[Verse 2]
That's the sound of the man
Cocking that thang, that thang
That's the sound of the man
Clapping that thang, thang
[Verse 3]
Yo, in my hood we was taught
Not to say who shot ya
See the flash, you heard the shot
You feel the burning, I got ya
Say a prayer for me if you care for me
'Cause I'm on the edge
I'm finna put a shell in a **** head
I rock a lot of ice
I dare you to scheme on it
The fifth got a rubber grip and a beam on it
Homie that took the hit on me couldn't shoot this
Say I look skinny now, but I look big in the coupe
My cousin Uzi out in LA
Done tripped through the sets again
Got shot the fuck up
Tryna rob the wrong Mexicans
I write my lifestyle
Y'all **** is cheaters
Your lines come from feds, felons, and Don Diva
Oh, you the black hand of death?
Then why your name ain't preacher?
If you a pimp like kin
Why the hoes don't treat ya?
You wanna ball like Kirk
Now shorty, let me teach ya
This flow's God-sent
It's bound to reach ya
[Verse 4]
Problem child
I'm familiar with problems
I know how to solve 'em
Semi-automatic Luger tray
Revolve 'em
Shoot 'em up, rob 'em
In the hood we starving
You don't want problems
Problem child
[Verse 5]
(And why can't you be man enough)
(To tell me where you're coming from)
[Verse 6]
They say you can never repay the price
For taking a man's life
I'm in debt with Christ
I done did that twice
I'm nice
Y'all **** can't hang with 50
Blaat, y'all **** can't bang with 50
50 born to rhyme
There's a shell and a nine
Face stone in the cross
There's a bitch I tossed
See the wounds in my skin
They from the war, of course
You can check CNN for the war report
See, the drama got me riding
With a sawed-off shottie
Catch you at the light
I'll blow ya ass off the Ducati
Man, **** ain't gon' do me
Like Sammy did Gotti
I do it myself
I don't need no help
Give me a knife
I'll get rid of your neighborhood bully
Give me a minute
I'll take a fucking car with a pulley
See, the hood is the thief
That stole my innocence young
**** jumped me
'Cause they couldn't beat me one on one
[Verse 7]
Problem child
I'm familiar with problems
I know how to solve 'em
Semi-automatic Luger tray
Revolve 'em
Shoot 'em up, rob 'em
In the hood we starving
You don't want problems
Problem child
[Verse 8]
(And why can't you be man enough)
(To tell me where you're coming from)
[Verse 9]
I must've broke a mirror at three
And had bad luck for seven
'Cause pops slid, mommy died
Before I turned eleven
They say you ain't s'posed
To let black cats cross your path
The footprints in the sand
Is Satan carrying your ass
I got God Understand Me
Tattooed in my skin
When I die, come back
I'ma tattoo it again
I'm the young buck that let the gun buck
Roll the window down and say
What's up, ****, get ready to duck
[Verse 10]
My heart is a house, homie
Fear don't live here
****, believe me
When I say I don't care
Muslims mix a lot
God studied they lessons
Even when my luck's hard
I still count my blessings
See that look in my eye
You better keep on stepping
Spent time on my cell floor
To sharpen my weapon
If you pussy, I'ma smell you
When you come around here
Them boys in Pelican Bay
Couldn't live on my tier
[Verse 11]
Problem child
I'm familiar with problems
I know how to solve 'em
Semi-automatic Luger tray
Revolve 'em
Shoot 'em up, rob 'em
In the hood we starving
You don't want problems
Problem child
Written by: Curtis James Jackson, George Spivey, James Brown, Lynne Collins
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