[Intro: children talking about 50's music]
[Kid #1]
My mom took me to Sam Goody
I wanted to buy a 50 Cent CD
I took that shit home
That shit was wack like a motherfucker
I fuck with Game

[Kid #2]
I like 50 Cent
He reminds me SpongeBob
And Tony Yayo is Blue's Clues
And Lloyd Banks is Dora the Explorer
They're my friends
Psyche

[Kid #3]
I went down one of them bodega shits right there in Harlem
Got me a bootleg Lloyd Banks and Young Buck CD
Took that shit home, put it in my boombox
Thought I was 'bout to be on some Radio Raheem shit
Man that shit sound like some Vanessa Williams in '88
I mean Olivia cute but they say that bitch a man
So this Black Wall Street for life now
G-G-G-Unot!
[Verse: The Game]
300 Bars and Runnin'
Just loan me your ears for fifteen minutes
Walk with me
Here the breakdown
Pass the doja, .45 in the holster
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them n***as, they toy soldiers
Oh, that boy colder than Hova unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but this ain't the Takeover
Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a little closer
Before you call this a diss, and you make Hova pissed
Why would I wanna do that? When I'm just the new cat
That was taught if a n***a take shots to shoot back
Defending his yard, yeah, standing his ground
I'm saying if you gon' retire, then hand me the crown
Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in Madison Square
Watch everybody sleep through it
We can go bar for bar, I'll let the lines speak to 'em
What they say? Bleek is over, let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em silly
What you thought? Them was the only n***as rapped in Philly?
See them n***as with the sunnis leave you wrapped in Philly
Then dash in groups like Beanie Mac in Philly
Cosmic Kev called, said Curtis Jack in Philly
Make a U-turn, I gotta go back to Philly
I forgot my cheesesteak, that's what I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the Glock
And I can't forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the cops
Even I was ready to die, when I heard that he was shot
What's beef? Beef is when I murk you on the spot
Labels signing anything, still searching for they Pac
I put purple on the block, so I don't feel threatened
When Ludacris say he coming for the number one spot
Ask 50, it get lonely on top, you can hate me
Or love me, but now the cops the only homies he got
When it's beef we eat, when we hear bologna, we pop
You sell records but a G-G-G-U-not
Acting big on the radio, to me you not
You can ask Mister Cee who hot
Tony Yayo, I bet 10 G's you flop
Run up on that new 300C you got
Stop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding stop
And I hope you blackout before you see the cops
I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Cedar Block
But what I got in my high tops'll make your breathing stop
I'm a gangsta slash rapper, check your CD shop
I'm like Elvis in there, they can't believe he dropped
Now I'm moving on up to George and Weezy's spot
I picked up where my homeboy Eazy stopped
I saw the west coast, put the shit on my back
Sprayed Aftermath on it, then loosened the straps
It get hot in here, let Lucifer rap
Bring hell to n***as when Dre producing a track
Take it to the streets, put the duece-duece to your hat
Then call the pigs, tell them the rooster is back
Call Jadakiss, tell him that duke is back
I'm still by your side, no matter who comes strapped
Fuck Lloyd Banks, it ain't about who could rap
It's about when the Ruger clap, is rufus back?
I see what you thinkin', you want me to die, is that so?
Now you left leaning back thanks to Fat Joe
We got reservations in heaven, you ready? Let's go
Drop them off, then pop Cristal with Esco
I'ma say he hit me first if me and Dre talk
All Nas said back was he had a braveheart
Now that's the eulogy, beefing is kinda foolish
See n***as running their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping before I proceed to clapping
And you gon' see the captain with plans of getting me captured
Even behind bars, I'm still gon' shine
I'm ten years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm fine
Then I go right back, n***a, I pop minds
How you gon' drop Olivia? You only drop dimes
I knew you changed when you started sleeping in that vest, dawg
I don't need 50 Cent, my n***as make collect calls
1-800-split a faggot n***a wig
He got G-Unit wings, throw 'em off the Queens Bridge
Now your career is over-career is over
We in Q.B., banging C.N.N. in the Rover
T-O-N-Y, that's Capone n' NORE
You ain't the talk of New York, your sixteens is boring
Take that shit off n***a, go back to PC
And tell 50 Cent to send you a copy of Beef 3
I'm airing their ass out on D-V-D
You wanna rhyme like Lloyd Banks, repeat after me
"I'm a G-Unit toy soldier on Sesame Street
Doing voice overs," bitch ass n***a
Need a rhyme dictionary to rehearse his lines
Sound like Oscar the Grouch with them nursery rhymes
We was in the studio when I first got signed
He got stuck, he called 50, tried to borrow some lines
That's the wrong n***a, when you need help with your rhyme
All he gon' tell you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad 'cause I ain't wanna make your beef mine
You got lucky with Ja, why you ain't go at Shyne?
He freestyled from the pen, that's just the fact
Said he'd put you with your mom and you ain't fucked with that
Then you lied about your pops, he never bust no cap
Like father, like son, go ask Busta that
I knew from the beginning not to trust those cats
I'd kill 'em all if I could bring Justo back
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason n***as saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason n***as saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason n***as saying my name like Mike Jones
I said
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason n***as saying my name like Mike Jones
And I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and screw it
Do whatever to it, put it in the store, the shit moving
Gave 'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do it
Came with two hundred, n***a this is more than music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like summer
Both feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin'
I beef with any n***a, say my name, motherfucka, I'm gunnin'
You can put it on Skee if you want it
I'll air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them shits sell out like a Air Jordan shoe
I told Funk Flex when I catch the n***a Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he know how to DJ with bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the Sidekick asking what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's police to use his
'Cause Bloods gonna get ya
Blood-Blood-Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain
That .380 spill brains, when I pop shots
Outside N.Y., in front of hip-hop cops
Or broad day in L.A., I'ma tell Em and Dre
This n***a bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to say
Took me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes
So I'ma take him out his house, put the beam on his face
Drop him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakes
'Cause when you fucking with Jayceon, you can bleed in the lake
For caking off n***as on them CD's and tapes
Ask him to scratch a record, you will see that he is fake
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cheesecake
Take the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant Replay
Now the instant replay, I mean the machine
That G-Unit use every time 50 on stage singing like
"Bitches only feel your shit just a lil' bit
N***as only feel your shit just a lil' bit"
On my album, 50 helped me just a lil' bit
Only on two songs, now back to some killer shit,
My clips bananas, I kill a gorilla quick
Beating on your chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell Ecko to make him a suit
Tell Reebok to make him some boots, get him a head band
To cover the holes in his head, he a dead man
For thinking he can walk through muddy waters like Redman
Banks blacked out and let the gun blam
Without a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the lieutenant gotta ask for his strings
Take my advice, never wear Air Max to the bing
Unless you one of the Bloods or a Latin King
'Cause if you left with the Aryans your ass'll sting
And your cellmate is a 25 to lifer
They'll stab you in Folsom, then fuck you on Rikers
And life goes on
Now back to the coward of the hour, who lied and said he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was gonna leave me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept them for yourself
N***a stop acting tough before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The Massacre
Make a move, I'm blasting, add those to the last ones
Ten shots from the MAC, empty the rest in the passenger
Fase yelling that's enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and lift the doors on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase think I'm locin' backing up
Reverse the '05 hearse on 41st and traffic, what
Hip-hop cops on my left, but I pass 'em up
The Dodge got a Hemi in it, Game got Remy in 'em
In and out of lanes like a New York cab
I miss the old king that New York had
Who's this fake n***a on pictures with the Jake n***a?
Got his crew starving 'cause he ate the whole cake, n***a
He ain't Nas, ain't B.I.G., ain't Jigga
If he ain't Cube or Pac then who you got?
We getting tired of you talkin about who you shot
I'll use another six bars to tell you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he went out like a gangsta
You went out with Vivica, three months after Wanksta
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we thought you was hot
Now the same n***a wanna take us to the Candy Shop
C'mon man, what happened to the thug?
Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd Banks hugging
N***a got mad when The Game start buzzing
So fuck making friends now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia talking about we a family, Game had to go
N***a, I'll smack that hoe like I'm Jacki-O
'Cause I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna shake hands or wear your G-Unit shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your group
Just wanna sit here and wait (for the summer)
To be gone, so I can head back to the block
Fresh white Nike Airs and the matching Sox fitted
Pull the brim low, if they don't get it
Bentley Coup on gold Daytons, I was the first one with it
Four times platinum, I done been there and did it
Came in the game and shitted, then wiped my ass with it
They say the Lord giveth, Lord taketh away
So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll wait for the day
N***as hating on me, they don't want Jayceon to play
And the D.A. waiting on Jayceon to make a mistake
So they can put me in the squad car and lock me away
Give me a odd job in the pen for minimal pay
Let me out so I can drive down criminal way
Pushing the rock, nah, this ain't no subliminal, Jay
The summer too hot and I just want the winter to stay
'Cause I'm a cold n***a when I put the pen to the page
Similar to them shells going into my gauge
I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them into grenades
And Just Blaze, 'cause the boy got game
Like I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain
Now back to reality, my gun and my vest
And if diamonds are forever, then I'm Kanye West
Take a look at my chest, a hundred thou' wet Jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred thou' can't break 'em
And the flow is hot like thou with Satan
And the only thing I got spinning is Daytons
The hotter I get, the more willing to snake 'em
So soon as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em
Compton swap meet to get me some All-Stars
When Game in the house, they callin' all cars
'Cause they heard about what went on in D.C
Heard about Hot 97, my beef with 50
Now tell me do he got a conscience?
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in his nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this conference
I'd rather be pushing rock like Samantha Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, like we still bonding
We ain't friends, I'm just acting like Charles Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one hand on my Johnson
Hip-Hop police on me like I'm the convict
What happened to the old school? I thought it was rhyming
Doug E. Fresh and Dana Dane on the corner like Common
Now that ain't common, it's more like Top Ramen
The flow is noodles, I throw it up like vomit
And I still shine like diamonds, they kicked me out of
G-Unit and I rebounded like Rodman
It's still Aftermath, two feet in the paint
Should I be mad? I ain't
I'm supposed to stop, I can't
Because I'm in the hood politicking, Impala liftin'
And I keep a black four-five on the side of my Prada denim
Chip on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prison
Dollar vision, blow a hundred thou' like my wallet missing
Then re-up like Kim before the d-cup
Continuously getting money with my feet up
Chasing the throne, here my black Air Force
I said fuck Benzino and got the cover of The Source,
Feel me? If not then I guess you gotta kill me
But you ain't gon' do that, so, motherfucker, move back
While I do B.I.G. and Pac impersonations on two tracks
When I wake the dead, everybody remove hats
We miss y'all, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap and why I gotta stay strapped?
On that murder T-I-P, kill you ASAP
They don't know which hole to patch up when the K clap
I tried to spare you Young Buck, now it's time for payback
It go, how you from Cashville but you ain't got no cash, n***a?
Said my name, now that's your fucking ass, n***a
Kept your mouth shut and I gave you a pass, n***a
Now I gotta lay you down like the last n***a
Buck, buck, buck from my AK-47
This n***a playing with his life, I might have to put him in Heaven
Tryna play the game, talking shit up on the stereo
Prepare for burials when I'm reincarnating Harry-O
And you don't want that David 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe? When it's war, he pull out butter knifes
Motherfucker, I'ma show you who the gangsta
All you do is murder ink, now who the wanksta?
When Suge had you, you were stranded on the row
Juve left you for dead and went back to the N.O
50 heard you on the tour bus and felt your little flow
Then he made you temporary replacement for Yayo
You a bitch and that's hard to swallow
And you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit chain in Chicago
I call my n***a Jojo to get it back
He had the shit in his hands and you ain't had the ten stacks
Picture that, I thought we was G-Unit
Then you ran and told 50 that I did the shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy ain't hard to find
I told Monica when I catch him, the boy is mine
Take one shot of Brandy and pop
Watch his panties drop when I run inside the Candy Shop
Fuck you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the cops
And Olivia, I mean for a man, she hot
Now I'm running out of breath, like I just beatboxed
Got twenty bars to go, lay it down like sheet rock
Don't worry about the flow, the boy know he hot
Hurricanes in stores November, n***a, fuck Reeboks
I'm fly like a hummingbird on a tree top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new Pac, I need three spots
280 in, ain't no getting me back
I'm yelling, "Fuck the world," on my victory lap
Remember first it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now it's whoever, motherfucker, yeah, who want beef?
Now whenever, motherfucker, who wanna see me?
In the coffin, body exhausted, resting in peace
You don't want war, n***a, you want peace
So give 'em the piece, capisce, let 'em rest in peace
From West to East, the flow is outdatable, irreplaceable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing with Satan
And I slipped 'em the ace, so you cannot replace 'em
If Eazy ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A king in the making and the throne is for the taking
So I climb the mountain top and put my stake in
Got the weight of the world on my shoulder
Not a n***a, nor a hoodrat bitch can stop me from taking it over
This is crack music, go get the baking soda
300 Bars and Runnin', n***a, the wait is over
I'm gone