(feat. Baby (Big Tymers)) [Baby & T-Mac] 50 ain't shit, shoot the dice lil' daddy Yeah nigga', 263, Cash Money 50 ain't shit, shoot the dice lil'
You bests believe I'm goin to get mine You can take this to the bank nigga I'm gonna die tryin Chorus: B.G. Playa can't be played Playa niggas sittin
nigga dressed in black on black With glocks to mack in the hoop in 'dis black on black Spillin' brains ain't nothin but a thang to me Sellin cane and fame ain't
cannon You shootin back, but u ain't hittin Shit I'm still standing When shit don't go down smooth I don't panic Switch pistol, switch hands, switch targets
Little Mu' pass the mac and let me hit 'em in his back Frank White need to get spanked right for settin' traps Little accident murderers and I ain't never
em up Check this out You mutha-fuckas know what time it is I don't know why I'm even on this track Y'all niggas ain't even on my level I'm going to let
You hit the chalk and fall in the night time Gotta get mine Ain't takin no shorts or no losses Hop on the phone Callin' my nigga sin at home Polishin' that MAC
10 million deep I'm tryin to sell 10 billion keys Fuck what a bitch boy say to me AKA I stay with me Mac 99 not far away my dogs don't even play with
it doesn't come from me I'm on T.V gettin interviewed Still got them thangs in the intertubes 8 grand for the good purp A t-shirt, under my t-shirt Aye
at, and niggaz smirk at me sayin ain't nuttin poppin from here to the L.B. What you tell me? No it ain't crackin, everybody's jackin for a Coupe Since
it gangsta y'all, keep it gangsta [chorus] Niggas want that gutter shit Fuck that other shit, that play it for your mother shit Ain't the rugged shit
ain't How much you say it's what you sy I got no fuckin' time on the mic To play I write rhymes With addition and algebra Mental geometry Don't even come
DMC touger then ever I got more then one mac on me tucked under the leather Hold your head, don't play into the media Tabloids said they don't want your
yeah) [Verse One: Big Boi] Did you ever think that you would be the nigga on the block Didn't have to break a steerin column, didn't have to cook a rock
popped in the disc, pressed play To the Grand Central, from the Van Wyck Expressway I said, "Bet you'll never guess in a million years what I just saw
the game, kept my mind on fame Saw fiends shoot up, and do lines of cocaine Saw my close friends shot, flatline am I sane? That depends, carry Mac-10
Girl, to Maybelline Quater million jewelry from, Las Van Dome Diamonds and plat', like glass and chrome Black credit card, just asking on Didn't need it, just didn't
begin this century so mention me And Imma heat the track up if it's loo of you demons I suggest you go get back up Load the mac up don't slack up Imma
