50 Cent - The Funeral [*] Lyrics
Get the lyrics to the song: The Funeral [*] by 50 Cent at LyricsKeeper.com.
The Funeral [*]
The Funeral [*] Lyrics |
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What Are The Lyrics For The Funeral [*] By 50 Cent?
You forgot my style
Flowers, a funeral service, a kid's in the coffin It sound so familiar, don't it happen so often? The shoot-out shit happens, the sister read the eulogy Couldn't help but think 'nigga better you than me' .38 ain't got no safety, that bullet ain't got a name on it But it's hard to miss when that thing got a beam on it First shot, pop off, everybody popping shots The glass at the store front, we forgot God was watching Run, run, hit the gate, D's yelling "drop it" Niggas getting jammed up, better that than a jammed up His momma said a few words to her, he was innocent She might have heard he did some shit, but never saw no benefits So in her eyes, he's mommy's little baby But he was outside talking to niggas crazy In a room full of people came to pay their respect I just came in to get a close look at nigga to check That nigga dead as a doorknob, stiff as a nail And my man, tomorrow he gon' get out of jail ROR, trust me nigga I know the law Release on your own recognizance, that bullshit I'm on it That's his first taste, I mean his first case Got knocked with the strap, but not the one that clapped This nigga here we still got that, yeah First law in my hood is show no fear Him and love was closer than we thought, that nigga in here crying Oh shit, in the store, he probably passed him the iron These some grimy ass niggas, full breed vultures Trying to come up, still eating around roaches Cookie Crisp, Captain Crunch, breakfast of the champions Lucky charms, stay armed, niggas won't clap you in We watch the side bitch talking like she a main bitch His wifey just sat there, preachers weren't saying shit Right jab, left hook, hand full of weave This type shit a nigga got to see to believe These bitches acting up in here Police they don't fucking care Homicides snooping around of them, we all with the shit Cousin back from college saying he gon' get who did this shit He a ball player nigga, nigga better play ball You play with the wrong niggas we gon' get to letting off I done seen enough, feel like it's time for me to split Hit the parking lot, chill where the weed is lit Twist the cap, pour out a little liquor All the theatrics, you know, like that was my nigga We all can't win, some of us got to lose Envision a lil' dog barking at a pack of wolves Cause that's what happened, yeah yeah, that's what happened He just went on and on till niggas started attacking Acting like he was the only motherfucker packing 50 bars of pleasure, 50 bars of pain When I'm dead and I'm gone niggas will remember the name It's 50, yeah 50 bars of pleasure, 50 bars of pain When I'm dead and I'm gone niggas will remember the name It's 50, yeah |
Who Wrote The Funeral [*] By 50 Cent?
Curtis James Jackson, Jacob Brian Dutton, George Iii Clinton, William Earl Collins, Bernard Worrell
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