Hurricane Pt II (G Unit diss) lyrics

50 ain't like that I was my own man
I ain't a b*tch like Banks
What kinda "gangstas" sit and hold hands
Murdered your whole clan
300 bars and Running
Two Chuck Taylors in the sand
Ya man's Buck ain't even have a grand
U don't even pay them n*ggas for them ads
As for me
Lambo interior butter, outside jelly
Still sitting pretty on Pirellis
At Spaghetti Eddie's, with a b*tch named Shelly
If Makaveli was here he would've never kicked it with 50
f*ckin wit me i put you in a trash bag like Missy
Banks talking bout the sh*tty City
Is it the Rotten Apple or a frisbee
U a b*tch, u should go battle Nicki
I attract cash like magnets
Banks you a di*k sucking faggot
I smashed on all you bast*rds
Now G Unit in thе bargain bin basket
Wit Phat Farm and Enyce
Got em grеasy like cheesesteak
I should just let the beat play
For broke n*ggas like Buck & D Tay
Olivia a man, having G Unit 3ways
U ain't no Gs, real Gs get cake
I been paid n*gga ask Big Fase
Banks roll the dice, if u wanna lose control of ya life
n*gga spent half a mill on ice but pushing a 99
I ain't even push a 99 in 99
n*gga outta his mind
This is Game Day, still don't give a F-U-C-K
Cold how I hold the trey, still Dre protege
About my business, pockets full of spinach
Hurricane n*gga f*ck them G Unit tennis
Orthopedic sneakers, look like they for seniors
Snitch sneakers, I don't talk to police b*tch