:



Artist: G-Unit

Album: Beg for Mercy

Song: Eye for Eye





Yeah, I like the way this feel

This make me wanna just (G-G-G-G, G-Unit!)

Buck somethin, hahaha (G-UNIT!)





Nigga you shit on me, I shit on you

You put a hit on me, I put a hit on you

An eye for an eye nigga

Survive the shots or die nigga



Get 'em Banks!





They can't hold me

I'm Lloyd Banks the one and on-ly

Not your buddy, not your pal, not your ho-mey

But ain't a government around that can control me

Oh no!!!





Uhh, I'm on that "Doggystyle" shit, man I don't love a hoe

Poppa wasn't 'round, so I had to let my brother know

Never stay at center, play the back and let your money grow

Most them niggaz wouldn't be around if you was bummy yo

Southside Jamaica neighbor yeah that's where I come from

If you see a nigga with me then there's more than one gun

Fly straight soldier, ain'tcha tired of bein the dumb one

Or are you satisfied bein another nigga's Dun-Dunn

We all know friendships turnin sour when you gettin it

Some niggaz hate me in the hood, but I don't owe them niggaz shit

Smilin all up my face like I don't know them niggaz sick

But I can care less, I'm on the Island and I'm gettin rich









Walk it and talk it, spit it how I live it nigga

Came from the country, Dirty South get it nigga

Feds try and question me, they run up in my ho-tel

They said there was a shootin, but they found no shells

New York City hell they throwin niggaz under jails

I got love for dem and I ain't even from dere

Now bust a shot for dem boys on da block

I can feel your pain nigga, I'm still in the game nigga

There's somethin bout the sound of a trey-pound

That make me pull up, hop out, and make a nigga lay down

See every time we 'round, you hear some shots go off

And niggaz get they chains snatched when they tryin to show off

Shootouts in broad day, we do it the mob way

And come to find out, these niggaz softer than Sade'

I'ma keep livin my life with a pistol in my palm

And a wrist full of ice, you can call me a Don motherfucker





We got the Hei-ny

So make one wrong move and you're dy-ing

Ain't no time for coppin a plea and cry-ing

Cause my niggaz ain't gon' stop ridin'

So you gone









I got a handgun habit, nigga front I'll let you have it

When the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at it

I'm allergic to the feathers on these bird-ass niggaz (yea)

Front and I'll put your brains on that curb fast nigga

I ain't a marksman, one spark and I spray shit

Nuff rounds from that H-K, I don't play bitch (uh-huh)

Move like I'm militant, back on that gorilla shit

Moody, disrespectful, unruly, but niggaz can't move me (yea)

I squeeze 'til I run out of ammo, if it's a problem it's handled

I have your people pourin our liquor and lightin candles

You fuck around I blow your brains on my New York Times

Run home, turn to the sports section and read your mind

It's crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bust

First there's crime scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse

We don't go to funerals, but we'll go to your wake fam

Do your body all banged up, you made a mistake man

G-Unit歌词

G-Unit

简介： G-Unit其实是由2003年发迹的50 Cent领导的一个纽约土生土长的说唱乐团和50 Cent一样这支乐团也是组建在纽约的皇后区G-UNIT是纽约著名Rapper50Cent推出的服装品牌

:



Artist: G-Unit

Album: Beg for Mercy

Song: Eye for Eye



[50 Cent]

Yeah, I like the way this feel

This make me wanna just (G-G-G-G, G-Unit!)

Buck somethin, hahaha (G-UNIT!)



[Chorus: 50 Cent]

Nigga you shit on me, I shit on you

You put a hit on me, I put a hit on you

An eye for an eye nigga

Survive the shots or die nigga



[50] Get 'em Banks!



[Verse One: Lloyd Banks - singing]

They can't hold me

I'm Lloyd Banks the one and on-ly

Not your buddy, not your pal, not your ho-mey

But ain't a government around that can control me

Oh no!!!



[rapping]

Uhh, I'm on that "Doggystyle" shit, man I don't love a hoe

Poppa wasn't 'round, so I had to let my brother know

Never stay at center, play the back and let your money grow

Most them niggaz wouldn't be around if you was bummy yo

Southside Jamaica neighbor yeah that's where I come from

If you see a nigga with me then there's more than one gun

Fly straight soldier, ain'tcha tired of bein the dumb one

Or are you satisfied bein another nigga's Dun-Dunn

We all know friendships turnin sour when you gettin it

Some niggaz hate me in the hood, but I don't owe them niggaz shit

Smilin all up my face like I don't know them niggaz sick

But I can care less, I'm on the Island and I'm gettin rich



[Chorus]



[Verse Two: Young Buck]

Walk it and talk it, spit it how I live it nigga

Came from the country, Dirty South get it nigga

Feds try and question me, they run up in my ho-tel

They said there was a shootin, but they found no shells

New York City hell they throwin niggaz under jails

I got love for dem and I ain't even from dere

Now bust a shot for dem boys on da block

I can feel your pain nigga, I'm still in the game nigga

There's somethin bout the sound of a trey-pound

That make me pull up, hop out, and make a nigga lay down

See every time we 'round, you hear some shots go off

And niggaz get they chains snatched when they tryin to show off

Shootouts in broad day, we do it the mob way

And come to find out, these niggaz softer than Sade'

I'ma keep livin my life with a pistol in my palm

And a wrist full of ice, you can call me a Don motherfucker



[Interlude: singing]

We got the Hei-ny

So make one wrong move and you're dy-ing

Ain't no time for coppin a plea and cry-ing

Cause my niggaz ain't gon' stop ridin'

So you gone



[Chorus]



[Verse Three: 50 Cent]

I got a handgun habit, nigga front I'll let you have it

When the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at it

I'm allergic to the feathers on these bird-ass niggaz (yea)

Front and I'll put your brains on that curb fast nigga

I ain't a marksman, one spark and I spray shit

Nuff rounds from that H-K, I don't play bitch (uh-huh)

Move like I'm militant, back on that gorilla shit

Moody, disrespectful, unruly, but niggaz can't move me (yea)

I squeeze 'til I run out of ammo, if it's a problem it's handled

I have your people pourin our liquor and lightin candles

You fuck around I blow your brains on my New York Times

Run home, turn to the sports section and read your mind

It's crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bust

First there's crime scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse

We don't go to funerals, but we'll go to your wake fam

Do your body all banged up, you made a mistake man



[Chorus]