Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Position of Power’ 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.
Ha ha ha! I told niggas not to shoot dice with me
Look at this stack, I got money, I got money!
Ha ha ha
Aw nigga don’t trip, I’ll kill you if you f*ck with my grip
I won’t hesitate to let off a clip
Aw nigga don’t trip, you gon’ make me get on some shit
Run up on you quick, wet up your whip
Aw nigga don’t trip, you gon’ get your monkey-ass hit
Runnin your lip, tryin to f*ck with my clique
Aw nigga don’t trip, in case you didn’t know who this is
It’s 50 Cent bitch, G-Unit
Aw nigga don’t trip
I come through your hood, stunting in my yellow Lam’
Murcielago, top down, nigga damn
I’m the biggest crook from New York since Son of Sam
Cruising, bumping Buck’s shit, Ruger in my hand
Thinking the East ain’t enough, it’s time to expand
I plan to head out West and plant my feet down
A nigga big as King Kong in the street now
I do a little house shopping, and buy me a crib
It’s palm trees and pretty bitches out in Cali kid
I touch the Hollywood paper, go and shoot me some flicks
Have some supermodel bitches come and suck on some dick
Mama’d turn in her grave if I married a white chick
But Becky’ll suck the chrome off a Chevy and shit
Niggas be wearing fake shines, I’m rocking a lil’ charm
30 carats on the pinky, kiss the ring on the Don
Crack open that Cali bud, stuff the weed in the palm
Nigga you hustle, but me I’ll hustle harder
I got what you need, them trees, that hard, that powder
My niggas move G-packs, every hour on the hour
They shoot when I say shoot, so I’m in a position of power
You f*ck around if you wanna
Where I’m from you learn to blend in or get touched
I don’t need niggas for support, I don’t walk with a crutch
Niggas know my steez, they don’t f*ck with me son
You got a appetite for hollow-tips, I feed you my gun
This is that Ferrari F-50 shit, it’s real laid back
Type shit you recline to in the Maybachs
I got two shooters now on the run from the fuzz
You get the same shit for ten bodies you get from one cuz
I live life in the fast lane, hundred miles an hour
Chrome and some wood grain
You know a nigga still really tryin to move ‘caine
Make a little extra money on the side mayne, I ain’t playing
I’m up early with the birds, word, putting that work in
Pirellis on the Porsche chirping, I’m making moves
I got a hundred mil from music, a hundred grand from crack
I’m goin’ to see my jeweler so I can blow a stack
Nigga you hustle, but me I’ll hustle harder
I got what you need, them trees, that hard, that powder
My niggas move G-packs, every hour on the hour
They shoot when I say shoot, so I’m in a position of power
You f*ck around if you wanna