The Real Wanksta Lyrics

"Dirty how it look?"
"Dadadana, like a damn snitch."
("Oh man that's cold.")
"Look like you 'bout ready to go tell on somebody right damn now."

[50 Cent's "Wanksta" beat]

[Black Child: talking] [echo]
Word to God, f**kin snitch ass nigga 50 Cent
f**k is wrong with you nigga?
Actin like you Ferrari nigga, you can't never be me
Boy (uh huh), cause

You a snitch nigga you ain't gonna pop nothin
Pay a nigga to do it, so you could tell the cops somethin
187 your "Unit", Hector Lynn and Cotch dumpin
You hear the shots comin (*gunshots*) (five, 0), start runnin

[Verse 1]
You knew I was comin, dumpin, who wanted a hundred rounds
Didn't I stab you up?, don't make me gun you down
Your whole career's nothin, but a publicity stunt
Until I kill you and give you the publicity you want
Yeah front page, rapper that's over paided
Found under the stage, felt under from the gauge
Nigga I got women that do the evil men do
They got more heart than you and want no parts of you
You hit chickens I used to, I f**k bitches that use you
And lose you, for the loot, big fists from Hooptie
Nigga you say you a gangsta, but we don't believe you
I come through 134 and don't see you
Pull up in somethin tinted, nothin rented
Pull out the Mack 10 and dump everythin in it
And ain't no witnesses, witnessin shit
Except for the four fifth and you on the floor stiff (uh huh)

[Chorus: w/ ad libs]

[Verse 2]
Killin to do 'fore I die and I ain't got bullets to waste
shot this nigga in the face
How you call yourself Ferrari?, you don't ride like me
In the hood, everyday "Ready To Die" like me
How does faggot nigga do a song with B.I.G.?
When he the snitch of the city, I'ma have to talk to Diddy
Fifty I had a knife, you had a gun
You ain't pop one shot, poked you, you called 911
What you know about AK's and AR 15's?
Nothin nigga, you up in the preacher at the 113
Damn homie, you a bitch, you a snitch
On your man homie, what the f**k wrong with you?
I got a fourth and Beretta that says revenge is better
Put holes through your leather, they have to sew you back together
Black could never chirp like that bird to the cops
He got a camera is his drawers and a mic is his watch (uh huh)


[Black Child: talking] [echo]
Word to God you f**kin faggot
Keep playing games, go 'head drop your f**kin album
I did, I'ma drop mine
And I'ma do a f**kin interview with the f**kin arrestin officer nigga
Don't keep playin games man
f**kin Officer William Fitzgerald from the two thirty-four nigga
On 54th Street nigga, you know
Stop f**kin playin games, actin like you don't know what happened nigga
Word to God, this Black Child too nigga
Black Child a.k.a. Ferrari Black nigga
It's Murder, faggot
pussy, pussy [gunshots]

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