Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Poor Lil Rich’ by 50 Cent. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 50 Cent or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
I let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me
My gat talk for me, BOW! What up homie
My watch saying hi shorty we can be friends
My whip saying quit playing bitch get in
My earring saying we can hit the mall together
Shorty its only right that we ball together
I’m into bigger things y’all niggas y’all know my style
Ya wrist bling bling, my shit bling blow
My pinky ring talk it say fifty I’m sick
That’s why these niggas is on my dick
Some hate me, some love my hits
Flex my man he gon bump my shit
See I’m alive man I really don’t care
I tell them hoes whatever they want to hear
You try and play me I’ma blaze it in
My chromes cost more than the crib ya momma raised ya in
I was a poor nigga
Now I’m a rich nigga
Getting paper now you can’t tell me shit nigga
You can find me in the fo’ dot six nigga
In the backseat fondling ya bitch nigga
I was a poor nigga
Now I’m a rich nigga
Getting paper now you can’t tell me shit nigga
You can find me in the fo’ dot six nigga
In the backseat fondling ya bitch nigga
New York niggas, cocky niggaz like it’s all good
F*ck around we crip-walking in the wrong hood
I’m fresh up out the slammer, I ain’t no fucking bama
I’m from the wild whody, but I know country grammar
See me I get it crunk, niggas go head and front
I go up out the trunk, come back, roll out I’m done (yeah)
My money come in lumps, my pockets got the mumps
You see me sitting on dubs, that’s why you mad chump
Don’t make me hit ya up, 50 cent will split ya up
I lay you down, them carnids will come and get ya up
See 50 play fa keeps, and 50 stay wit heat
I can’t go commercial, they love me in the street
I’m real bloody man, the hood love me man
Don’t make me show up in ya crib like bro-man
Locked up in a pen, I still do my thing
See-O screaming shut the f*ck up in the pen
I was a poor nigga
Now I’m a rich nigga
Getting paper now you can’t tell me shit nigga
You can find me in the fo’ dot six nigga
In the backseat fondling ya bitch nigga
I was a poor nigga
Now I’m a rich nigga
Getting paper now you can’t tell me shit nigga
You can find me in the fo’ dot six nigga
In the backseat fondling ya bitch nigga
I’m in the Benz on Monday, the BM on Tuesday
Range on Wednesday, Thursday I’m in the hooptay
Porsche on Friday, I do things my way
Vipe or Vette, I tear up the highway
Shorty she can tell ya about my dick game
But she don’t know me, she only know my nickname
Left the hood and came back, damn shit changed
These young boys, they done got they own work man
I was a poor nigga
Now I’m a rich nigga
Getting paper now you can’t tell me shit nigga
You can find me in the fo’ dot six nigga
In the backseat fondling ya bitch nigga
I was a poor nigga
Now I’m a rich nigga
Getting paper now you can’t tell me shit nigga
You can find me in the fo’ dot six nigga
In the backseat fondling ya bitch nigga