50 Cent — 9 shots

Fifty, fifty.
Fifty, fifty.
Fifty, fifty.
Ferrari, Ferrari.
Ferrari, Ferrari.
Ferrari, Ferrari.
Shooter, shooter.
Shooter, shooter.

I was innocent then, I ain’t do no wrong.
She said, «you mommy little man», I said, «yep, uh-huh».
She was everything to me, when she came, I just lit up.
Sunday morning I was so sharp, all did up.
It was welfare hustlin’, they killed her for that.
The first shot, bullet wound in my back.
I’m fucked up, look at my sneakers, I’m fucked up.
Now I’m on my own, mommy gone.
Sam said, «you a young boy, why your clothes look so old?
You don’t need fish, little n*gga, you need a pole.
You don’t need no new kicks, you need an O».
Chop that, bag it, get right back at it.
That touched me, it hit me in my heart.
I’m a hustler, homie, you was giving me my start.
I am what I am, Sabrina’s only baby.
Practicing in the mirror, pulling out my .380.

Oh man, I fucked up nana gonna kill me.
Whenever shit can go wrong it always will.
See, seven grams of cocaine, three grams of d*pe.
Saint Mary medallion hanging from my rope.
Try to punk me and my gun smoke.
Look, I’m outta control, my gun go.
Off like it’s legal, call the cops, you need to.
Give ’em my description, I ain’t bullshittin’.
My high school sweetheart love didn’t last long.
N*ggas start flashing that bread and she was gone.
That hurt me like the bullet in my calf then.
My next girl was a pain in the a*s.
I got two shots left, in case n*ggas try to get me.
That’s nine shots, we just call it fifty.

Mama said the Lord gon’ bless us.
Mama said, mama said.
Mama said the Lord gon’ bless us.
Then in came the landlord, beef, and the stresses.
Mama said the Lord gon’ bless us.
Mama said, mama said.
Mama said the Lord gon’ bless us.
The dope bought the shit the food stamps couldn’t get us.
Mama said the Lord gon’ bless us.
That’s what mama said, that’s what mama said.