[Produced by Trackmasters]
[Intro: The Madd Rapper & 50 Cent]
Yo, yo, yo, yo, y'all know who this is, boy, for real
The art of getting robbed
This is how we do, Brooklyn-style, boy, you know what I'm saying?
R.I.P. B.I.G., nigga, R.I.P. P.A.C
R.I.P.—Enough of that shit, it's time to O.D
I got my nigga 50 Cent, yo, this is how it feels how to rob a industry nigga, yo
Don't take this shit serious, though, we just bugging the fuck out
One time
But y'all can take it how you want it, word
[Verse 1: 50 Cent]
The bottom line is: I'm a crook with a deal
If my record don't sell, I'ma rob and steal
You better recognize, nigga, I'm straight from the street
These industry niggas is starting to look like something to eat
I snatch Kim, tell Puff, "You wanna see her again?
Dance your ass down to the nearest ATM"
I have dreams of fucking a R&B bitch
But I wake up early and bounce with all her shit
When I apply pressure, son, it ain't even funny
I'm about to stick Bobby for some of that Whitney money
Brian McKnight? I can get the nigga anytime
Have Keith sweating, staring down the barrel on my nine
Since these Harlem World niggas seem to all be fam
I put the gun to Cardan, tell him, "Tell your man"
Mason Betha, haha
Come up off that watch now - I mean right now
The only excuse for being broke is being in jail
An entertainer can't make bail, he broke as hell
I'd rob O.D.B., but that'd be a waste of time (Yeah)
Probably have to clap him, run and toss the nine
I'd follow Fox in the drop for four blocks
Plotting to jux her for that rock Kurupt copped
What Jigga just sold, like four mil? He got something to live for (Uh-huh)
Don't want a nigga putting four through that Bentley Coupe door
I'll manhandle Case like "Dope, get on the ground
You ain't with Mary no more, where you getting chips from now?"
I been scheming on Tone and Poke since they found me
Steve know not to wear that platinum shit around me
I'm a klepto, nah, for real, son, I'm sick
I'm 'bout to stick Slick Rick for all that old school shit
Right now, I'm bent, and when I get like this, I don't think
About to make Stevie J take off that tight-ass mink
I rob Pun wit out a gun, snatch his piece and run (Uh-huh)
This nigga weigh four hundred pounds, how he gon' catch me, son? Huh?
[Intro: The Madd Rapper & 50 Cent]
Yo, yo, yo, yo, y'all know who this is, boy, for real
The art of getting robbed
This is how we do, Brooklyn-style, boy, you know what I'm saying?
R.I.P. B.I.G., nigga, R.I.P. P.A.C
R.I.P.—Enough of that shit, it's time to O.D
I got my nigga 50 Cent, yo, this is how it feels how to rob a industry nigga, yo
Don't take this shit serious, though, we just bugging the fuck out
One time
But y'all can take it how you want it, word
[Verse 1: 50 Cent]
The bottom line is: I'm a crook with a deal
If my record don't sell, I'ma rob and steal
You better recognize, nigga, I'm straight from the street
These industry niggas is starting to look like something to eat
I snatch Kim, tell Puff, "You wanna see her again?
Dance your ass down to the nearest ATM"
I have dreams of fucking a R&B bitch
But I wake up early and bounce with all her shit
When I apply pressure, son, it ain't even funny
I'm about to stick Bobby for some of that Whitney money
Brian McKnight? I can get the nigga anytime
Have Keith sweating, staring down the barrel on my nine
Since these Harlem World niggas seem to all be fam
I put the gun to Cardan, tell him, "Tell your man"
Mason Betha, haha
Come up off that watch now - I mean right now
The only excuse for being broke is being in jail
An entertainer can't make bail, he broke as hell
I'd rob O.D.B., but that'd be a waste of time (Yeah)
Probably have to clap him, run and toss the nine
I'd follow Fox in the drop for four blocks
Plotting to jux her for that rock Kurupt copped
What Jigga just sold, like four mil? He got something to live for (Uh-huh)
Don't want a nigga putting four through that Bentley Coupe door
I'll manhandle Case like "Dope, get on the ground
You ain't with Mary no more, where you getting chips from now?"
I been scheming on Tone and Poke since they found me
Steve know not to wear that platinum shit around me
I'm a klepto, nah, for real, son, I'm sick
I'm 'bout to stick Slick Rick for all that old school shit
Right now, I'm bent, and when I get like this, I don't think
About to make Stevie J take off that tight-ass mink
I rob Pun wit out a gun, snatch his piece and run (Uh-huh)
This nigga weigh four hundred pounds, how he gon' catch me, son? Huh?
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