50 Cent — My Confessions

[Produced by Trackmasters] [Intro] Yo, I'd like to dedicate this to my mom, Sabrina Jackson God bless her soul We gon' get it on in here; nothing but real shit [Verse 1] Yo, shorty ain't a shorty no more; shorty be wil'ing Shorty adolescent ass belong on the island I went from riding big wheels to wanting to be a big Willy Found interest in drug dealers and cold-hearted killers Could it be it's in my blood cause my mom sold drugs? She used to bust slugs and surround herself by thugs Made mistakes by showing them love And they killed her Some friends never came to pay respects, so fuck Hilda You know how friends do friends - like Tony did Manolo The type of fast shit that Henry did in Good Fellas Some snakes don't show up to weights cause they backs is yellow When you hear talk of the Southside, you hear talk of the team See, niggas feared Prince and respected 'Preme For all you slow muthafuckers, I'mma break it down iller See, 'Preme was a business man - you guess who the killer Remember? He used to push the bulletproof BM (uh huh) His hair'll get you seasick; I sat back and peeped shit They roll with E-Z Wider, and they ain't get blunted Had the whole projects working for fifty or five hundred What about bug, who trade and them niggas had cheese? In the late 80s push Mercedes And Maseratis, kept reserved spaces at the horse races Where they met Columbian connections like Lucho and Mariella Then bookoo bucks on the horses; they used to cook and flip bricks Faster than the jet flip flap jack and pack gats Niggas said Ds was dipping, burned his face with acid 'Til this day, they would say the mothefucker's gasted [Hook] It's my confession; I make corrections; I strive for perfection I try to be the best in, whatever I do; I'm telling you This is my confession; I'm teaching niggas a lesson Cause they can't do, what I do; here's my confession [Verse 2] Yo, a lot of New York blocks are only bringing pennies in I stand beef - too many cheaps; too little fucking Indians Too many sips of the brew will make you do what we do Play with insecurities, until we start fussing and cussing Frustration builds - few lose, and fist fights leave niggas busting Not only do we have to look out and avoid encounters with Jake Gotta look out and avoid encounters with snakes Niggas who fake and play both sides of the gate I squeeze Boyz II Men for they cheese like Michael Bivins Slip with half a big nigga cap like Robert Givens Coming up I heard sipping too much booze will leave you confused And if you watch the news, you'll see some players in this game and lose Niggas think they together; they ain't together at all Stand on the block together, but divided they fall A lot of niggas locked down and ain't got nobody to call And a player ain't the same player when he can't ball [Hook] [Verse 3] Yo, you better R-E-S-P-E-C-T me - the type that keep the bricks flipping Jewels dripping, the margarita sipping - description Nappy blowouts shaped up, brown-skinned And ask the hood rats about my dick; the chickens recommend it I make statements like "Try me if you want" Presentation: cool and calm - words as if I'm daring ya Usually roll with a 2 shot .25 derringer I'm not an actor; my life's not a movie I never worked with the Fugees I'm not killing you softly; pack a small gat just to back you up off me But later when things simmer and all sin ceases My peoples will see to it that you rest in peace in pieces Kill or be killed - it's what the hood teaches Never go to church so the preachers can't reach us And if we do, it's only on Easter [Hook]