Poor Lil Rich – 50 Cent

I let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me
My gat talk for me, blow, what up, homie?
My watch saying “Hi shorty, we can 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-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 will split you up
I lay you down, the coroners will 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-six, nigga
In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga

I’m in the Benz on Monday, a BM on Tuesday
Range Rov’ 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’ll tell you I’m ’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-six, nigga
In the backseat fondling your bitch, nigga