Poor Lil Rich - 50 Cent

I let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me

My gat talk for me, blaow, what up, homie?

My watch saying «Hi shorty, we could be friends»

My whip saying «Quit playing, bitch, get in»

My earring saying «We can hit the mall together»

Shorty, it’s only right that we ball together

I’m into bigger things, y’all niggas, y’all know my style

Your wrist «bling bling», my shit «bling blaow»

My pinky ring talk, it say «Fifty, I’m sick»

That’s why these niggas is on my dick

Some hate me, some love my hits

Flex my man, he gon' bump my shit

See, I’m a liar, man, I really don’t care (I don’t care)

I tell the hoes whatever they wanna hear

You tryna play me, I’ma blaze you then

My cross cost more than the crib your mamma raised you in

I was a poor nigga, now I’m a rich nigga

Getting paper, now, you can’t tell me shit, nigga

You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga

In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga

Was a poor nigga, now I’m a rich nigga

Getting paper, now, you can’t tell me shit, nigga

You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga

In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga

New York niggas copy niggas like it’s all good

Fuck around, be Crip-walking in the wrong hood

I’m fresh up out the slammer, I ain’t no fucking bammer

I’m from NY whoadie, but I know country grammar (Woo)

See, me, I get it crunk, niggas go head and front

I go up out the trunk, come back, roll out, I’m done (Yeah)

My money come in lumps, my pockets got the mumps

You see me sitting on dubs, that’s why you mad, chump (Uh-huh)

Don’t make me hit you up, these shells’ll split you up

I lay you down, the coroners’ll come and get you up

See, 50 play for keeps, and 50 stay with heat

I can’t go commercial, they love me in the street

I’m real gutter, man;

the hood love me, man

Don’t make me show up in your crib like bruh-man

Locked up in a pen, I still do my thing

CO screaming, «Shut the fuck up!»

in the bing

I was a poor nigga, now I’m a rich nigga

Getting paper, now, you can’t tell me shit, nigga

You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga

In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga

Was a poor nigga, now I’m a rich nigga

Getting paper, now, you can’t tell me shit, nigga

You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga

In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga

I’m in the Benz on Monday, a BM on Tuesday

Range on Wednesday;

Thursday, I’m in the hooptay

Porsche on Friday, I do things my way

Vipe or Vette, I tear up the highway (Woo!)

Shawty, she could tell you 'bout my dick game (Yeah)

But she don’t know me, she only know my nickname

Left the hood and came back, damn, shit changed

These young boys, they done got they own work, man

I was a poor nigga, now I’m a rich nigga

Getting paper, now, you can’t tell me shit, nigga

You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga

In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga

Was a poor nigga, now I’m a rich nigga

Getting paper, now, you can’t tell me shit, nigga

You can find me in the four-dot-six, nigga

In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga