Nobody get hurt if nobody don’t move Just give it up smooth (G-Unit!) Motherfucker you move I’ll flash my tool And blast my tool (G-Unit!) Nigga you don’t know me, and I don’t know you You think you know my crew (G-Unit!)
[Lloyd Banks:] I been a problem since the old days, pimps and gold caps Now I’m in O.J. Simpson throwbacks Y’all was wondering where my ass been Probably vacationing on South Beach getting head like an aspirin If you gassed, I can let the tec pound your ego Or lock you in a closet with the West Nile mosquito The press crowd in people, especially celebrities I’m heavily shittin’ on any Tom Dick or Gregory Nigga you better be strapping; they want you dead if you rapping I’m trying to cave your head and your back in I’m getting bread and relaxing, and attracting a fan base Of females with e-mails and letters to fax in In Vegas with a toaster and a blunt And the hotel I’m checked in, got a roller-coaster in the front I’mma post ’em when I stunt, the Sammy Sosa of the month Better yet the whole season, nigga I’m still breathing Even though my dollars are green I rap for the kids that’s too poor to waste eggs on Halloween I’m getting swallowed clean, my habits are good Collecting all the karats I could Sliding from a stash spot to conceal the torture And a good silencer to make it sound like the Wheel of Fortune All this careless talking, cause I’m traveling and flossing Having a good time, and you having a abortion You sucker for love, getting married and divorced then Can’t even afford the batteries for your Walkman I’m out the hood, burning Cali weed on Slausson Where set tripping turn to tragedies and coffins Look, I mean what I’m saying, you scheming I’m spraying Your team end up laying, on the sofa screaming and praying Saying, G-Unit niggas be rolling crazy, holding 80s Older ladies staring cause they staring in that gold Mercedes Since 50 hooked up with Shady, now they trying to book up and pay me If you think I’m shook up you crazy, baby The boy strapped two ninas Smoking out a bag big enough to fit on vacuum cleaners I wore a glove when I blazed you fatty, I ain’t your baby daddy She flipping, now he trying to grab me out the navy Caddy I ain’t your ave-y, papa was a rolling stone Stocking up to own a home, pocket full of loaded chrome Drop and get a hold of dome, I know your motive homes You mad, cause I’m fuckin’ half your Motorola phone I’m swift with the women I’m good with my words A lot of, niggas is hating on what I deserve I’m hotter Front if you want, end up on the curb in your Prada And your mans running, ambulance coming Another day another dollar, on the low from the Impala I can have a six still in my shower, motherfucker!
Nobody get hurt if nobody don’t move Just give it up smooth (G-Unit!) Motherfucker you move I’ll flash my tool And blast my tool (G-Unit!) Nigga you don’t know me, and I don’t know you You think you know my crew (G-Unit!) I send a nigga that you thought you knew To come through and put a hole in you (G-Unit!)
[50 Cent:] Lloyd Banks, ha ha! 50 Cent! I ain’t even gotta work hard Look at these niggas, ha ha ha The fuck you gon’ do now nigga! You done had the same niggas in the background for a long time Think they gangster, but going back and forth to jail Well jumping the turnstile don’t count nigga Ha ha ha ha!