50 Cent - Street King Energy lyrics
50 Cent [Curtis James Jackson III]
[50 Cent - Street King Energy lyrics]
You, I love you so much
I can't deny how much I love you, yeah
Alright, alright, that's enough
Niggas ain't gonna hear that shit
Nigga this is simple, not complicated
I I I can't be faded
I'm starting to think I made it
Get out of line, out line, line, out line
You act like you got a vagina
You pussy nigga
Front on me, I'll find, find, I'll find ya
There's no running from me
Picture me in my darkest hour
I would rather be marked for
Death than marked the coward
Pure evil, like the dope in your veins
You fuck around I make you
Bang yourself like Cobain
Turn around disappear
Thin air like David Blaine
I’m higher than Travolta, he flyin' a plane
No evaluation necessary, I'm insane
The barrel of that llama, hot, yeah
Like a sauna bricks in the door panel
Crossing the Verrazano
Tom Ford Taylor shoes, you’s Ferragamo
Don Corleone, let's talk mano-a mano
I’m classically trained
They call me the piano man
I move the keys fuck a piano, man
I'm sort of like a one
Man band with a trumpet
Beef – I let blow, run, hop a fence
And dump it niggas be talking all that jazz
When they get down to the get down they ask
That bass so deep, my heart so cold
I let you hear that street
Sweeper drum line row
Rat-a tat tat, rat-a tat tat tat tat
I never hesitate to put a nigga on his back
You lose, cause I got the ill street blues
You lose, I'll see you on the 6 o'clock news
Rat-a tat tat, rat-a tat tat tat tat
I never hesitate to put a nigga on his back
You lose, cause I got the ill street blues
You lose, I'll see you on the 6 o'clock news
This vintage 50 call it my tommy gun bounce
Say the wrong shit out your mouth
I'll A your ass out
One line, one bar, I'll be on you so fast
My night work like I'm fresh out Alcatraz
I don't wanna play so I don't play fair
You know it's not polite to
Stare at my Cartier
Yeah, I'm enjoying the fruit's of my labor
Coke boy, the dope boy, now a nigga major
I used to cut crack on my grandmama China
And cook coke think I'm the
Chef from Elle's Diner smoke it
I could smoke a kush through the jar
When I'm tripping
I might put a clip through your car
They say I'm sick
Then tell me how I made it this far
I love war, in fact, I'm the commander
I want you to open the box of pandor'
I'll destroy you and everything you stand for
Yeah, I'm a South-side nigga to the bone
And when my niggas ain't around
I do it on my own
Check my track record nigga, haha, 50 yeah
That's cool for starters
But we gotta get to the shit
Wait till y'all hear the shit
I can't deny how much I love you, yeah
Alright, alright, that's enough
Niggas ain't gonna hear that shit
Nigga this is simple, not complicated
I I I can't be faded
I'm starting to think I made it
Get out of line, out line, line, out line
You act like you got a vagina
You pussy nigga
Front on me, I'll find, find, I'll find ya
There's no running from me
Picture me in my darkest hour
I would rather be marked for
Death than marked the coward
Pure evil, like the dope in your veins
You fuck around I make you
Bang yourself like Cobain
Turn around disappear
Thin air like David Blaine
I’m higher than Travolta, he flyin' a plane
No evaluation necessary, I'm insane
The barrel of that llama, hot, yeah
Like a sauna bricks in the door panel
Crossing the Verrazano
Tom Ford Taylor shoes, you’s Ferragamo
Don Corleone, let's talk mano-a mano
I’m classically trained
They call me the piano man
I move the keys fuck a piano, man
I'm sort of like a one
Man band with a trumpet
Beef – I let blow, run, hop a fence
And dump it niggas be talking all that jazz
When they get down to the get down they ask
That bass so deep, my heart so cold
I let you hear that street
Sweeper drum line row
Rat-a tat tat, rat-a tat tat tat tat
I never hesitate to put a nigga on his back
You lose, cause I got the ill street blues
You lose, I'll see you on the 6 o'clock news
Rat-a tat tat, rat-a tat tat tat tat
I never hesitate to put a nigga on his back
You lose, cause I got the ill street blues
You lose, I'll see you on the 6 o'clock news
This vintage 50 call it my tommy gun bounce
Say the wrong shit out your mouth
I'll A your ass out
One line, one bar, I'll be on you so fast
My night work like I'm fresh out Alcatraz
I don't wanna play so I don't play fair
You know it's not polite to
Stare at my Cartier
Yeah, I'm enjoying the fruit's of my labor
Coke boy, the dope boy, now a nigga major
I used to cut crack on my grandmama China
And cook coke think I'm the
Chef from Elle's Diner smoke it
I could smoke a kush through the jar
When I'm tripping
I might put a clip through your car
They say I'm sick
Then tell me how I made it this far
I love war, in fact, I'm the commander
I want you to open the box of pandor'
I'll destroy you and everything you stand for
Yeah, I'm a South-side nigga to the bone
And when my niggas ain't around
I do it on my own
Check my track record nigga, haha, 50 yeah
That's cool for starters
But we gotta get to the shit
Wait till y'all hear the shit