Body Bags Songtext

50 Cent

von The Kanan Tape

Body Bags Songtext
Nigga, (yeah), nigga, you know I don't fuck with them niggas. Them niggas pussy. Sucka ass niggas. I don't like either one (I don't even like 'em). But the other night I'm in the gambling spot. Nigga come up in here - boom - hit the door. "Get the fuck on the floor, bitch, get down on the floor." I turn around like, "what?" Niggas like, "get down!" (When was this?) I'm like, "nigga, I got on white linen."

Fuck it, I mean we gotta kill what we eat, right? It's not a problem, it's really not a problem. Southside

Okay, the dope addin' up, the coke addin' up
The smoke addin' up, my pockets are fattened up
I got bitches in my bedroom, nerds on computers
Diamonds 'round my neck, straps for my shooters
I made it, look ma', I made it
I grind so hard to get here I can't be faded
I got lawyers on the line, five different kinds
Five different crimes, same .45
Got a plan to turn to premise, see, a nigga ain't lyin'
Cause they ain't gon' say I did it and I ain't gon' say I did it
And I might go back and forth to court, better bet I get acquitted
Can you dig it? Nigga, can you dig it?
Shit changed, a nigga ain't broke
I had a safe size as a shoe box, it felt like a vault
Now I got real money, that "fuck how you feel" money
That "nigga, you look at me wrong, get killed" money

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual
Hop out, hammer out to get at you
You gon' be part of my body bag ritual
.45 lettin' off some shit at you
You gon' be put in a body bag
You won't get a chance to fire back

I peep my swag in the mirror, I think I got a crush on me
I don't want no wack bitches touchin' me
Tailor-made threads, satin sheets on my bed
Get a bitch sea-sick, waves all on my head
Diamonds in my ear, Baccarat chandelier
Gabbana underwear, I'm so fly it ain't fair
Every day a different dime piece
Rose Gold, a different time piece
Hublot, AP or rollie
Your bitch and your jeweler know me, homie
I'm bulletproof, go 'head, take a shot at me
You be a dead nigga like the last one that got at me
My shirt level three so I ain't got a vest on
My heart like ice, my chest like teflon
I'm a nightmare right here, just me and my knife, nigga
Don't let me find out you ain't 'bout that life, nigga
It's doomsday, I mean goon day
I get the orders, like, "air out the room, Dre"
[Gun shots]

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual
Hop out, hammer out to get at you
You gon' be part of my body bag ritual
.45 lettin' off some shit at you
You gon' be put in a body bag
You won't get a chance to fire back

The mileage had a shorty ass trippin' strippin' in my kitchen
Push my thumb in her ass while I was strokin' her kitten
I be in my own zone, still clutchin' the chrome
Talk state of the art, [?]
My passport need pages, I'm fuckin' round' out in London
Jetlag from jets, wrist lit baguettes
Trippin' in my charm, look bitch, I'm a don
So shit go how I say it go, fuck if I'm right or wrong
My paper long, bomb kush in the bong
It feels like I'm dreamin' cause a nigga on
I'm so far from a hammy down, I'm out in Miami now
My bitch no speak no ingles, she fresh off the boat
She give me neck, what you expect? I got connects for the dope
I'm no joke, blow 30k on the coke, stuff ten in the coat
Nigga, front, I'll have a hand full of dreadlocks
Bitch, I hit your ass with a headshot

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual
Hop out, hammer out to get at you
You gon' be part of my body bag ritual
.45 lettin' off some shit at you
You gon' be put in a body bag
You won't get a chance to fire back
Drucken Songtext