It's a tale of the Fifty Four, a tale of a time gone by. Of a Merchant's declaration, and the blood red run setting in the sky. It's the tale of a people
It's a tale of the Fifty Four, a tale of a time gone by. Of a Merchant's declaration, and the blood red run setting in the sky. It's the tale of a
your forehead When I'm at war, raw is the only way I play it You think you was on NBA Jam, you hear that choppa Go Blakka-ga-blakka, Boom-shakka-laka
chop with fifty shots Ready for combat Fifty shots in my gak leave a bitch nigga wet Flat wit a bars head what you know about that A hot boy hittin' yo' set
die bitch Chop or get chopped hoe B.G. split or get split Play tha game how it go Shootin tha drop somethin' Glock or pop somethin' AK wit' fifty shots
Crips walk to this Now throw it up, raise it up for that gangsta shit [Verse 1:] I'm in my Labo maggot, my fo' fo' faggot Doors lift up I'm like Go Go
all in, here to win, I rep Staten Island He called it, I showed four jacks, he started wilding [Interlude:] This son of bitch.. All night, he set me
about.. What? Time to take Affirmative Action son They just don't understand, youknowImean? Niggaz comin sideways thinkin stuff is sweet man Yknahmean? Niggaz don't understand the four
start to lose your mind cop you a drink, go ahead and rock your ice cause were celebratin no more drama in our life get the track pumpin, everybody is jumpin go
: (feat. Richard Thompson) Fifty traveling to work the fields Toil the factories and sweat the steel Set out to sail from Santa Rosalie I left you
record we always come to set a new standard Act like you know Incase you ain't know and incase you ain't heard And if you want us to set it just give
ass who can sing a song Wrong, this ain't politically correct This might offend my political connects My raps don't have melodies This shit make niggas wanna go
bubble when the jealousy is kickin' in I wanna pull licks but that jealousy don't fit me Let's bet on the set, I'm a vet runnin' from fifty It spell
with Sinead and they sippin on the four-oh Now I know I'm trippin *Martin Lawrence voice* Oh my goodness! Let me change the TV and Dizamn! Once again there I go
kick you in your [ass] and your breath'll smell like sneaker soles Now how's that for a fixin? You'd better rather go to Roy's, cause I ain't kickin science
game I got my eighty-fours tippin, wood grain I'm grippin I'm swayin lane to lane with my pinky ring glistenin And on my H-Town set, all my cars I wet
