50 Cent – Body Bags Lyrics

(Intro)
Snorts cocaine
Ni**a,you know I don’t f**k with them ni**a
Ni**as,s**ka ass ni**as,I don’t like either one
Ni**a come up in here,Boom!
Hit the door,get the f**k on the floor bi**h
Get down on the floor, I turn around like what?
Ni**as like get Down
I’m like ni**a I

(Verse 1)
Okay, the dope adding up, the coke adding up
The smoke adding up, my pockets are fattened up
I got bi**hes 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 ni**a ain’t lying
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? ni**a, can you dig it?
Sh*t changed, a ni**a ain’t broke
I had the same size as a shoe box, it felt like a vault
Now I got real money
That f**k how you feel money
That ni**a, you look at me wrong, get killed money

(Chorus)
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 letting off some s**t at you
You gon be put in a body bag
You won’t get a chance to fire back

(Verse 2)
I peep my swag in the mirror
I think I got a crush on me
I don’t want no wack bi**hes touching me
Tailor made threads, satin sheets on my bed
Get a bi**h seasick, 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 bi**h and your jeweler know me, homie
I’m bulletproof, go head, take a shot at me
You be a dead ni**a 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 night, ni**a
Don’t let me find out you ain’t bout that life, ni**a
It’s doomsday, I mean goon day
I get the orders, like “Get out the room Dre

(Repeat Chorus)

(Verse 3)
The mileage had a shorty ass tripping
Stripping in my kitchen
Push my thumb in her ass
While I was stroking her kitten
I be in my own zone, still clutching the chrome
Talk state of the art
My passport need pages
I’m f**king round out in London
Jetlag from jets baguettes
Tripping in my charm, look bi**h, I’m a don
So s**t go how I say it go, f**k if I’m right or wrong
My paper long, bomb kush in the bong
It feels like I’m dreaming cause a ni**a on
I’m so far from a hammy down, I’m out in Miami now
My bi**h she 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
Ni**a, front, I got a hand full of dreadlocks
Bi**h, I hit your ass with a headshot

(Repeat Chorus)

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