300 Bars & Runnin'

My mama took me to Sam Goody'sI wanted to buy a 50 Cent CDI took that shit homeThat shit was wack like a motherfuckerDon't fuck with GameI like 50 CentHe reminds me SpongebobAnd Tony Yayo is Blues CluesAnd Lloyd Banks is Dora the ExplorerThey're my friendsPsycheI went down one of them Bodaga shits right there in HarlemGot me a bootleg Lloyd Banks and Young Buck CDTook that shit home, put it in my boom boxThought I was 'bout to be on some radio Raheim shitMan that shit sound like some Vanessa Williams '88I mean Olivia cute but they say that bitch a manSo this Black Wallstreet for life nowGGG-UNOT!300 Bars and RunningJust loan me your ears for 15 minutesWalk with meHere the breakdown, pass the doja, .45 in the holsterHollow tips'll fold 'em, them niggaz they toy soldiersOh, that boy colder than Hova unless he soberLike I'm the president, but this ain't the takeoverNow, there's the speaker, bring your ears a little closerBefore you call this a diss, and you make Hova pissedWhy would I wanna do that? When I'm just the new catThat was taught if a nigga take shots to shoot backDefending his yard, yeah, standing his groundI'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the crownNah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in Madison squareWatch everybody sleep through itWe can go bar for bar, I'll let the lines speak to 'emWhat they say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do itThey say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em sillyWhat you thought? Them was the only niggaz that rapped in Philly?See them niggaz with the soonies leave you wrapped in PhillyThen dash in groups like Beanie Mac in PhillyCompton camcorder said Curtis Jack in PhillyMake a U-turn, I gotta go back to PhillyI forgot my cheese steak, that's what I told the copsSo they wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the glockAnd I can't forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the copsEven I was Ready To Die, when I heard that he was shotWhat's beef? Beef is when I murk you on the spotLabel's signing many things, still searching for they PacI put purple on the blockSo I don't feel threatened when Ludacris say he coming for the #1 spotAsk 50, it get lonely on topYou can hate me or love me, but now the cops the only homies he gotWhen it's beef we eat, we win, but we ain't lonely we popYou sell records but a GGG-u not!Acting big on the radio, to me you notYou can ask Mr. CCC who hotTony Yayo I bet 10 G's you flopRun up on that new 300 C you gotStop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding stopAnd I hope you black out before you see the copsI ain't hot top for colors, I'm from Cedar BlockSo I got my hot tops that make your breathing stopI'm a gangsta slash rapper, check your CD shopI'm like Elvis in there, they can't believe you droppedNow I'm moving on up to George and Weezy's spotI picked up where my homeboy Eazy stoppedI saw the west coast, put the shit on my backSprayed Aftermath on it, then loosened the strapIt get hot in here, let Lucifer rapBring hell to niggaz when Dre producing a trackTake it to the streets, put the duece duece to your hatThen call up the pigs, tell them the rooster's backCall Jadakiss, tell him that duke is backI'm still by your side, no matter who comes strappedFuck Lloyd Banks, it ain't about who can rapIt's about when the Ruger clap, is Rufus back?I see what you thinking, you want me to die, is that so?Now you left leaning back, thanks to Fat JoeWe got reservations in heaven, you ready? Let's go!Drop them off, then the sound like EskoI'm a say 'he hit me first' if me and Dre talkAll Nas said back was he had a ??Now that's the eulogy, beef is kinda foolish seeNiggaz running their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to meBut quit the yapping before I proceed to clappingAnd you gon' see the captain with plans of getting me capturedEven behind bars, I'm still gon' shineI'm 10 years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm fineThen I go right back, nigga I pop minesHow you gon' drop Olivia, you only drop dimesI knew you changed, when you started sleeping in that vest dogI don't need 50 Cent, my niggaz make collect calls1-800-split a faggot nigga wigHe got G-Unit wings, throw them off the Queens BridgeNow your career is over, career is overWe in QB, banging CNN in the roverT-O-N-Y, that's Capone and NOREYou ain't the talk of New York, your sixteens is boringTake that shit off nigga, go back to PCAnd tell 50 Cent you want a copy of Beef 3I'm airing their ass out on DVDYou wanna rhyme like Lloyd Banks repeat after meI'm a G-Unit toy soldierOn Sesame street doing voice oversBitch ass nigga need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his linesSound like Oscar the Grouch, with them nursery rhymesWe was in the studio, when I first got signedHe got stuck, he called 50 tryna borrow some linesThat's the wrong nigga, when you need help with your rhymesAll he gon' tell you is say G-Unit one more timeGot mad 'cause I ain't wanna make your beef mineYou got lucky with Ja, why you ain't go at Shyne?He freestyled from the pen, that's just the factSaid he'd put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with thatThen you lied about your pops, he ain't never bust no capLike Father, Like Son, go ask Busta thatI knew from the beginning I couldn't trust those catsI'd kill 'em all, if I could bring Justo backThe underground is mine, I treat it like homeIt's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike JonesThe underground is mine, I treat it like homeIt's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike JonesThe underground is mine, I treat it like homeIt's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike JonesI saidThe underground is mine, I treat it like homeIt's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike JonesAnd I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and screw itDo whatever to it, but it in the store the shit movingGave 'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do itCame with two hundred, nigga this is more than musicEven Dre knew it, that boy hot like summerBoth feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and RunningAnd I beef with any nigga, say my name muthafuck I'm gunninYou can put it on skee if you want itI'll air you out on Drama King, Mike, or ClueAnd watch them shits sell out like a Air Jordon shoeI told Funk Flex when I catch the nigga Whoo KidWe gon' see if he know how to DJ with bruised ribsDon't hit me on the sidekick asking what you didGet a gun or ask 50's police to use hisCause Bloods gonna get yaBloods, Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chainThat 380 spill brains, when I pop shotsOutside NY, in front of hip-hop copsOr broad day in L.A., I'ma tell Em and DreThis nigga bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to sayTook me off my own songs, then put it on his tapesSo I'ma take him out his house, put the beam on his faceDrop him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakesCause when you fucking with Jayceon, you can bleed in the lakeFor caking off niggaz on them CD's and tapesAsk them to scratch a record, you will see he fakeIf 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cheese cakeTake the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant replayNot the instant replayI mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on stage singing likeBitches only for your shit just a lil bitNiggaz only for your shit just a lil bitOn my album 50 helped me just a lil bitOnly on two songs, now back to some killer shitMy clips bananas, I kill a gorilla quickBeating on your chest, I see to your death, yepTell Ecko to make him a suitTell Reebok to make him some bootsGet him a head band, to cover the holes in his headHe a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy waters like RedmanBanks blacked out and let the gun blam without a M-E-T-H-O-D ManSo the lieutenant gotta ask for his stringsTake my advice, never wear air max for the gameUnless you one of the Bloods, or a Latin kingCause if your left with the Aryans your ass will stingAnd your cell mate is a 25 to liferThey will stab you in Folsom then fuck you on RikersAnd Life Goes OnNow back to the coward of the hour who lied and said he write my songsHe told Vibe Dre was gonna leave me on the shelfSo he gave me all his hits, you should've kept them for yourselfNigga stop acting tough before I stand over youShow you how The Documentary live on top of The MassacreMake a move I'm blasting your ass to the last oneTen shots from the Mack empty the rest in the passengerFase yelling that's enough, let the coroner bag him upThrow in Makaveli and lift the doors on the MaganumGun smoking, Fase think I'm locin' backing upReverse the '05 hearse on 41st and traffic, whatHip-Hop cops on my left, but I pass 'em upThe Dodge got a hemmy in it, Game got a Remy in 'emIn and out of lanes like a New York cabI miss the Old King, that New York hadWho's this fake nigga, on pictures with the Jake nigga?Got his crew starving 'cause he ain't the whole cake, niggaHe ain't Nas, ain't B.I.G., ain't JiggaIf he ain't Cube or Pac then who you got?We getting tired of you talking about who you shotI'll use another six bars to tell you who you notYou ain't 50 Cent, he went out like a gangstaYou went out with Vivica, three months after wankstaGet Rich or Die Trying, we thought you was hotNow the same nigga wanna take us to the Candy ShopC'mon man, what happened to the thug?Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd Banks huggingNigga got mad when The Game start buzzingSo fuck making friends now I'm into throwing slugsOlivia talking about we a family, Game had to goNigga I'll smack that ho like I'm Jackie-OCause I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be youI don't wanna shake hands, or wear your G-Unit shoesDon't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your groupJust wanna sit here and waitTo be gone, so I can head back to the blockFresh white Nike airs and the matching socks fittedPull the brim low, if they don't get itBentley Coup on gold daytons, I was the first one with itFour times platinum, I done been there and did itCame in the game and shitted, then wiped my ass with itThey say the Lord Givth, if Lord take it awaySo I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll wait for the dayNiggaz hating on me, they don't want Jayceon to playAnd the DA waiting on Jayceon to make a mistakeSo they can put me in the SWAT car and lock me awayGive me a odd job in the pen for minimum payLet me out so I can drive down criminal wayPushing the rock, nah this ain't no subliminal JayThe summer too hot, and I want the winter to stayCause I'm a cold nigga when I put the pen to the pageSimilar to them shells going into my gaugeI hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them into grenadesAnd Just Blaze, 'cause the boy got gameLike I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chainNow back to reality, my gun and my vestAnd if diamonds are forever, then I'm Kanye WestTake a look at my chest, a hundred thou wet JacobWhole crew got chains, a hundred thou can't break 'emAnd the flow is hot like that wit SatanAnd the only thing I got spinning is DaytonsThe hotter I get the more willing to snake 'emSo soon as the beat drop, watch where I take 'emCompton Swap meet, to get me some All-StarsWhen Game in the house, they they calling all carsCause they heard about what went on in D.C.Heard about Hot 97, my beef with 50Now tell me do he got a conscience?I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in this nonsenseWouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this conferenceI'd rather be pushing rock, like ??50 whispered in my ear, like we still bondingWe ain't friends, I'm just acting like Charles BronsonMiddle finger in the air, one hand on my JohnsonHip-Hop police on me like I'm the convictWhat happened to the old school? I thought it was rhymingDoug E. Fresh and Dana Day on the corner like CommonNow that ain't common, it's more like Top RamenThe flow is noodles, I throw it up like vomitAnd I still shine like diamondsThey kicked me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like RodmanIt's still Aftermath, two feet in the paint, shitI be mad, I ain't, I'm supposed to stop I can't becauseI'm in the hood politican, Impala liftinAnd I keep a black .45 on the side of my prada denimChip on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prisonDollar vision, blow a hundred thou like my wallet missingThen re-up like Kim before the d-cupContinuously getting money with my feet upChasing the throne, here my black Air ForceI said fuck Benzino and got the cover of The SourceFeel me? If not then I guess you gotta kill meBut you ain't gon' do that so muthafucka move backWhile I do B.I.G. and 'Pac impersonations on two tracksWhen I wake the dead, everybody remove hatsWe miss ya'll, can I get a hand clap?Now back to rap, why I gotta stay strapped?On that murder T-I-P, kill you ASAPThey won't know which hole to patch up, when the 'K' clapI tried to spare you Young Buck, now it's time for paybackIt go, how you from Cashville but you ain't got no cash nigga?Say my name now that's your fucking ass niggaKept your mouth shut and I gave you a pass niggaNow I gotta lay you down like the last niggaBuck, buck, buck from my AK-47This nigga playing with his life, I might have to put him in heavenTryna play the game, talking shit up on the stereoPrepare for burial, it's when I'm reincarnating Harry-OAnd you don't want that David 'cause you love your lifeGet my Vibe, when it's war he pull out butter knifesMotherfucker I'ma show you who the gangstaAll you do is Murder Inc., now who the wanksta?When Suge had you, you were stranded on Tha RowJuve left you for dead and went back to the NO50 heard you on the tour bus and felt your little flowThen he made you temporary replacement for YayoYou a bitch, and that's hard to swallowAnd you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit chain in ChicagoI call my nigga Jojo to get it backHe had the shit in his hands, and you ain't had the ten stacksPicture that, I thought we was G-UnitThen you ran and told 50 that I did that shitAsk C-Murder, the boy ain't hard to findI told Monica when I catch him The Boy is MineTake one shot of Brandy and popWatch his panties drop, when I run inside the Candy ShopFuck you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the copsAnd Olivia, I mean for a man she hotNow I'm running out of breath, like I just beat boxedGot 20 bars to go, lay it down like sheet rockDon't worry about the flow, the boy know he hotHurricanes in store November, nigga fuck ReeboksI'm fly like a Hummingbird on a tree topThe new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I need three spots280 in, ain't no getting me backI'm yelling fuck the world, on my victory lapRemember first it was Buddens, then it was BleekNow it's whoever motherfucker, yeah, who want beef?Now whenever motherfucker, who wanna see me?In the coffin, body exhausted, resting in peaceYou don't want war nigga, you want peaceSo give 'em the peace, capiche (sp?)Let 'em rest in peaceFrom west to east the flow is outdatable, irreplaceableLyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing with SatanAnd I slipped 'em the ace, you cannot replace 'emIf Eazy ever decide to return, I remain JayceonA king in the making, and the throne is for the takingSo I climb the mountain top and put my stake inGot the weight of the world on my shoulderNot a nigga nor a hood rat bitch can stop me from taking it overThis is crack music, go get the baking soda300 Bars and Running, nigga the wait is overI'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone