So Simple (Feat. 50 Cent)

(Yo, one, two)
(Nonstop)
(Check me out right here, yo)

Yo, we can't stay alive forever
So, if shit hit the fan, then we might as well die together
I'm high as ever, more hos and more cheddar
G-Unit move around with them pounds and Berettas (yeah)
Yeah, faggot, if I want it, I'm gon' have it (yeah)
Regardless if it's handed to me, or I got to grab it (ah-ah)
Don't make a ass out of yourself trying to stop me
I'm cocky, rap's Rocky, nigga, you're sloppy

You know that I'm eight levels above you, nigga
I'll club you, nigga, I never heard of you, nigga
Ugly nigga, I'm the wrong one to provoke (ah-ha)
You rattin' on niggas is only going to leave you smoked
So the only thing left now is toasts for these cowards
I got no friends, fuck most of these cowards
They pop shit 'til we start approaching these cowards
While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers

I got a industry gangstress, that argues, and steams the reefer
And flip when I call her bitch, like she Queen Latifah
Now, all the vehicles is long enough to stash the street sweeper (ah-ha)
This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker (yeah)
I'm sliding through the raucous, with Prada on the chuckers
So the spring break hos, home from college wanna fuck us (whoo)
I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckers
I sic Rottweilers on you fuckers, cops following to cuff us

Top dollars to discuss this, whole lot of zeros
'Cause when it come to paper, I blow the soul out a hero (yeah)
I'ma break before I lay in the floor buried, besides (ah-ha)
Every rapper ain't a star, and every plaid ain't Burberry (ah-ha)
You can't tame Lloyd, we're smoking by the big screen
Changing the channel, looks like I'm playing the Game Boy
I know the watch bothering your vision
But reach, and I put a dot on your head like it's part of your religion

Why party with a pigeon? I'm blowing a ten
'Cause Bush's handing out flyers, for a party in the prison (ah-ha)
I'm in the Gucci vest, with the green and red straps
I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack (ah)

Now every morning's a fast start
But it ain't a problem getting dressed
'Cause my closet got more aisles than Pathmark (yeah)
Run when we starting a raid (yeah)
Or leave with 12 shells in your mouth, like a carton of eggs
I'm a young pimp, pardon my age
I don't got long hair, but if I did, should be part of my braids (yeah)

Niggas find out what club they at, take them with us
And run trains on them, like a subway map
Your advance is a grey Acura, see these record labels
Got most artists getting fucked like the gay rapper

I go to college on the tour
I'm goin down in history, nigga, next to Wallace and Shakur (ah-ha)
Keep your ammo clean, TEC's polished in the drawer (whoo)
Camera's by the hampers that monitor the floor

By now, you probably heard of me, fresh out of surgery
Flashy as a fuck, you gon' have to murder me
Burglary, I'm leaving with your Nikes burgundy
White tee, burgundy, you match now, back down

Niggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear (ah-ha)
Catch me on a boat, with weed, smoke and fishing gear (oh)
Heavy when I tow, seen notes from different years (oh)
Bezzy and the rope, remotes and lifting chairs (oh)

You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya
I send cars to your crib like I'm a cab dispatcher (yeah)
You're better off with the stupid guys, lookin' for a coupe to drive
You ain't gettin' nothing, but your French fries supersized
It's a damn shame y'all still local
I'm in a million-dollar studio laying my vocals, nigga

Still in the projects, nigga, you ain't going nowhere
You gon' fucking be there for the rest of your motherfuckin' life
And your mama say, I'm supposed to tell you somethin'
To encourage you, somethin' positive, alright
Well, I ain't gon' lie to you motherfucker, you ain't going nowhere
Go get yourself, eh, pig, get on the motherfuckin' curb
Fuckin' dirt bag