[Intro: 50 Cent]
G-G-G-G-G-G-Unit
50 Cent, n***a (Uh-huh), Tony Yayo (Yeah)
Whoo Kid (Is this what you want?)

[Chorus: Tony Yayo]
Yeah, and you don't stop
I do a one-eight-seven on your motherfuckin' block
Yeah, and it don't quit
It's G-Unit in your motherfuckin' ass, bitch
Yeah, and it don't stop
I do a one-eight-seven on your motherfuckin' block
Yeah, and it don't quit
It's G-Unit in your motherfuckin' ass, bitch (Non-stop)

[Verse: Tony Yayo]
They say good things should happen to those who wait
But I'm stuck in the game, still slingin' weight
You know that eggshell white, that tan and the brown
For a XL6 or a seven four pound
Suede seats is hot, but Italian leather is better
And with cameras in the mirror, n***a, the cars costs cheddar
I'm on first class flights with flyin' cooks
'Cause my verse sound nice when they fly in hooks
Now I'm blowing weed, oh, in Beverly Hills
With some bad freak hoes in the Montreal
Next year it's the new Hummer, stash box with the llama
I drive through in the blue gator bomber
Heaven or Hell'll prevail when I'm a goner
'Cause I eat up tracks like Hannibal and Dahmer
I'm the first one out and last one on the corner
'Cause life is a hustle, any day you be a goner
P89 Ruger with the silencer
Let off a clip it sound like spitballs goin' through straws
We got plenty of ratchets but not on sale
We even got Dillingers that hold shotgun shells
These rappers is talkin' 'bout bricks in they rhymes
You never did shit but some Mickey Mouse crimes
I do not respect it, my work is never watered down
So on the first I get mo' checks than NikeTown
Slingin' thirty-one bunnies, I been on the block
Since n***as did The Snake, Running Man and The Wop
When I was fifteen, I ain't want no workin' papers
I played the strip all night, servin' n***as
Listen, n***a, we live like Italians in jail
I got COs bringin' cell phones to my cell
Get rich in the game, n***as out to get you
Fill your ass up with lead, turn yo' ass to a pencil
I jump out with the Ruger rapid-fire
I had you on the run like Omar on The Wire
I'm the only rapper you know that stay on the run
I'm the only rapper you know that stay with a gun
I'm a hustler OGs love to hate
'Cause I got old school money put away in a safe
You can catch me in the hood where that dope and coke at
Or catch me in Cali in a Hollywood throwback
I'm a bail jumper, you know, a fishscale pumper
Fuck Judge Wong, he won't catch me on the corner
N***a. pay more tax, homie, you owe me
You wanna rap, we can battle for your see-through Rollie
I be in Em mansion strippin' them models
His bathroom's so far you gotta piss in a bottle
There's too many indians and not enough chiefs
Why you buy all the guns if you ain't got enough beef?
The shit I spit'll 'cause a all-out riot
And my new four-fifth'll 'cause a hollow tip diet
I'm the type to tie up your lady, then gun butt your baby
I'm like the mob, n***a, fuck you, pay me
I'ma hide my assets and disappear
Make a quick twenty mill' and vanish in thin air
I've finished my work, now it's time to cop
And meet that Chinese lady at the baggage spot
I need twelve twelves and fifty-eight fifty-eights
'Cause I got eight sales and they all gon' wait, motherfucker
[Chorus: Tony Yayo]
Yeah, and you don't stop
I do a one-eight-seven on your motherfuckin' block
Yeah, and it don't quit
It's G-Unit in your motherfuckin' ass, bitch
Yeah, and it don't stop
I do a one-eight-seven on your motherfuckin' block
Yeah, and it don't quit
It's G-Unit in your motherfuckin' ass, bitch, yeah

[Outro]
Haha, Whoo Kid