Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Rap Game (Bump Heads)’ 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.
Yeah, Shady (Woo!)
Ha ha, 50 Cent
G-G-G-G-G-G-UNIT
(Here we go again, yeah)
Uh huh, ha ha ha
Does it make you mad, when I switch my flow
You can’t understand, how I get my dough
50 Cent, I’m on fire, ’cause Shady said so
(Here we go!) I’m on fire
Everybody’s in a rush, to try and get the throne
I just get on the track, and try to set the tone
I ain’t tryna use nobody, as a stepping stone
But don’t compare me, I’m better off, just left alone
And I ain’t even tryna go there, with record sales
I’m just tryna keep it humble, and respect myself
Say what up, keep stepping, and just rep D-12
Keep my nose clean and stay away from, weapons, jail
And living reckless, but if you gon’ check my belt
You may see something else, I use to protect myself
A vest, to stop a Ruger, and deflect its shells
And send ’em back at you, faster than they left the barrel
And I don’t even carry guns no more, I don’t got to
Got undercover cops, that’ll legally pop you
And I den seen a lotta people, cross the line
But this motherfucker Ja, must have lost his mind
That ex, got him thinking he was DMX
Then he switched to Pac, now he’s tryna be him next
So which one are you, X, Luther, Pac or Michael
Just keep singing the same song, recycled
We all much rather get along, than fight you
Me and Halie dance to ya songs, we like you
And you don’t really wanna step inside no mic booth
Come on now, you know the white boy will bite you
I hurt ya pride dog, and you know I don’t like to
But I will if I have to, wit syllable after
Syllable I’ll just slap ya, killin’ you faster
Then you popin’ pill after, little pill of them tabs of
That shit you’re on, but if you want it, you got it
You’d bump this shit too, if we ain’t diss you on it
But if we lock horns, we could charge harder than Busta
We bump heads, wit any motherfucka’ that wants ta
So what’s the, deal, what’s with all the tough talk
When I walked up to you, like “Ja, what up dog?”
How come you didn’t say, you had a problem then
When you were standing there with all ya men
We could have solved it then, I’m a grown man dog, come holla
All you did was laugh then, smile and swallow
Another one of those little ex pills, in front of me
And tell me 50 Cent was everything, that you wanna be, come on
[Chorus: x2]
I, know, you don’t want it wit me
You, know, you don’t want it wit me
You, talk, but soon we goin’ see
You, don’t wanna bump heads with me
(Tony Yayo!) You couldn’t son me if my father helped you
My punchlines is hot, my bars will melt you
Ja you Stuard Little, shells’ll lift you
Every other week, I’m buying a new pistol
I clap at yo ass, wit this chrome .38
And put six through ya hats, that’s seven and 3-8
Irv you ain’t Suge Knight, you shook night
I put my knife in ya wind pipe, you bleed on the turnpike
You know and I know, who took ya chain
You got robbed two times, so ya ass a lame
I there to die for this shit, all I need is bail
You better stick to the movies, with Steven Segal
[Chorus: x2]
(Lloyd Banks!) F*ck that I’m tired of hearing
These industry niggas starting to get outta hand
Like I won’t find ya whereabouts, by stomp-ing ’em out ya man
You killing New York, even in Comp-ton, they understand
I’m on the block where you was raised doin’ chocolate up out the van, and
They see me pop up on icy, cause I could
You den lost yo money, prolly forgot yo way around the hood (hood)
Cause when you paranoid, it’s hard to make good songs
How you want it wit’ us, when half your artists got makeup on
Every magazine I open, you on ya knees, taking prayer pictures
And you ain’t even get shot yet, you scared bitches
You don’t know nothing about what pain is sucka
I put yo ass to the ground, like a train conductor, motherfucker
[Chorus: x2]
Yeah, nigga!
Yeah, Shady, Aftermath, G-Unit!
What the f*ck you think they call us G-Unit for?
‘Cause we move units, uh huh
And don’t think we ain’t billing you
For this motherfucking studio time
Matter fact keep it over fifty, we call it even, ha