Come and Get Me

Nigga, your time is up; I ain't come to kid you

I knew you niggas was dumb, but how dumb is you?

Thinkin' you can see the king when you unofficial

You don't wanna go to war 'cause I'll launch these missiles

I'm a ride-or-die nigga; I be tearin' shit up

We ain't like them other fools who don't compare to us

All the hos love a nigga; they be backing it up

But me - I love money; I be stacking it up

When my bandwagon pull up, they hop on board

They hop right on mine and hop right off yours

I get respect, homey, all across the board

I get a quarter mill' a track without an award

Ever wanna test a nigga, then come see me

In the street I hold my ground like I'm concrete

I know shit ain't sweet so when shit get deep

I'm rich, I can pay to have you six feet deep

(Nigga)

[Chorus]

I give it to whoever want it

If you want it, come see me

You know where I'm at

If you, if you want it, come get me

If you, if you want it, come get me

[50 Cent]

Nigga, you violate, I regulate, rat-tat-tat

Bigger shells - they fit in that banana clip tech

Run, and a bullseye form on your back

It's hard to miss wit' a full clip in the mac

I got ammo; ammo I unload; reload cut a nigga quick

Yeah, my knife game lethal - that tough guy shit

Nigga, that's what I see through

You like a three course meal, motherfucker, I eat you

You food, and I'm in the mood; so front, I let the hammer fly

Nigga, you can duck, run for cover, or die

Your choice; you choose

I Pop, you move, like you in shock: you been shot

Nigga, your blood on the street, you up shit's creek

You can hardly speak, startin' to get weak, your eyes close

Your life flash, your heart slow, your heart stop

Your ass dead, you fucked, kid

[Chorus]

[Tony Yayo]

I'm like Nicholas Cage: Yeah, it's the Ghost Rider

P89, yeah, I let my toast slide, Costa Rica To Brazil

I got my hos in the lamb; why your bitch bald headed?

Like Britney Spears; I'm in the projects gettin' dope and piff money

Two more flips; that's Anna Nicole Smith money; fuck a G4

I'm in a G-500, G-450, G-550; that's airplane talk

I'm the aviator man, baby; AR shoot your baby out your hands

Spaghetti and corn bread; mix got me blunted

There's no talk abouts; you don't fuck on an empty stomach

Buy out the mall, then hug the block; hundred-thou wood grain

In a phantom drop; then I cruise in the club

Got my ruge in the club; pay a bouncer a buck

Now my uz in the club, yeah, nigga

[Chorus]