Back to the previous page

Artist: G-Unit
Album:  The Beast Is G-Unit
Song:   Ballin'
Typed by: 

[Chorus: 50 Cent singing]
Until God calls for me
I'ma keep ballin, keep on ballin
To my niggaz and my bitches lookin down on me
I know y'all see me, when I'm ballin

[Interlude: 50 Cent]
You know I got to keep ballin - 'til the Fed's come we ballin out
Y'all niggaz y'all know what this about
When I'm ballin - that stash house, we in and out
We ballin, ballin ballin, we shot callin

[Tony Yayo]
Versace down from my head to my neck
Pootie Tang with the belt game, show some respect
All these bitches on my dick, same old shit
R.I.P. to Pimp C, I'm the same old pimp
Fly over seven different time zones
I got a big booty bitch up in shroom zone
Got emergency blunts, when I come home
Cause that rapper weed, 'll have your lungs gone
Yeah, Malibu beaches, unlaced bikini bottoms
Mo' money, mo' problems, fo'-fo' will solve 'em
Guiseppe down with a stank zip, 30 in the clip
Ridin through that Gaza Strip, kill a nigga quick
Hit a nigga with my race car, Tony Yayo turn to Tony Stewart
Rap niggaz die over music

[Young Buck]
Just got this brand new chopper and I'm dyin to use it
Dry snitchin niggaz testifyin in they music
I seen niggaz last five minutes then they lose it
Wrap the sheet around his neck, he said, "This time I couldn't do it"
A platinum nigga in the penitentiary goin THROUGH IT!
Put Prada on the prison yard and started gettin to it!
That's the number that they gave me when I arrived!
It's just another form of slavery that's in disguise
To all my niggaz locked up just tryin to survive, I know why



[Kidd Kidd]
Uh, I'm yellin money over bitches, money over everythang
Money got me everythang, every watch, every chain
Every brick, every whip, kicks with designer names
I used to hustle taxes, whose child I could claim?
Paid all my momma bills, so how could she complain?
All my bitches dimes, I treat 'em like loose change
Kobe Bryant in the clutch, ballin with my ankle sprained
No love, got it out the mud, my shirt ain't got a stain
Iced-out Roley, three fingers reppin Rida Gang
Tire streaks in the streets so them hoes know I came

[Lloyd Banks]
Uh, ballin on these hoes all the time, you got yo' kids, don't need mine
Word to my favorite design, my momma raised me to shine
These C-notes play in my mind, they on rewind
I am, top five alive, I've been, picked out by God
I'm never not on my job, too hard to argue that
Shinin my records like, "Where's my target at?"
Came through your stereo feel me chargin back, I'm gon' need 15 bombs for that
Stage in the Garden, hear when they all go black
Cracks in the armor, hug these beats, squads in rap
Before we start, react, mob attack
Stacks it don't calm me
Rain down 'til nobody's standin, won't show no snipe to yo' army


[Interlude] - 2X