The Cake – Song and Lyrics by 50 Cent


Discover the poetic beauty in ‘The Cake’ 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 need the cake nigga
G-unit don’t play
We rap but we strapped
Buck got the shotgun
50 got the mack
Spida got the streeper
And you bound to hear it clap
You won’t have another birthday cake after that
’cause yayo got a temper and he don’t know how to act
And I’ve been gone for the winter
But now a nigga back
To get the money the money the money the money the cake
And you motherfuckers looking like steak
Food on the plate for the wolves
Follow wolves
Don’t get moved by the tools
Battle wounds on you shoes wait
Control you hate
You ain’t riding in them 6’s
(why?) ’cause you spending all your cake on them bitches
I need the bread lil’ niggas need Christmas
Banks don’t rap with a back pack
I’m in it for the money the money the money the money the cake

You heard banks said so I know I got the mag
I pull up pull out spray hollows at your back
I don’t give a f*ck
It’s going down like that
I done been through every hood
Dead niggas gone rap
In the heart of a victim murder is monumental
I don’t complicate shit, yea I keep it simple
My bullet wounds will tell you a story bout what I been through
South side trauma drama with gallamas
I conversate with killers it’s usually about life
Politic with lawness it’s usually about white
I’m the poster child of violence
I’m the boy on the poster
When the shots start to rang out I’m the boy with the toaster

Yeah listen up chicko
I hustle I get dough
You fucking with a sicko
I spazz let a clip go
Cannon out the rental
Beam to you temple
I squeeze blow your mental
All over you friends

Me I’m from the street
We ain’t nothing sweet
The home of the homies
There’s a body every week
Now I don’t hear the sirens
But they probably gonna creep
Plotting to pull me over
Plant the cake in my jeep
So I’ll be skipping cities 7 states in a week
Can’t a muthafucker breathing tell me I can’t eat
Show me the money the money the money the money the cake
Niggas slow down pump you breaks

No mistakes
Cause the jakes
Run the plates
Then you headed up state
For rolling round with a steak
Niggas start up the beef
And run straight to the cops
You’re a bitch ass nigga
The cup cake of the block
Any nigga disrespect the click getting shot
Round here niggas get found upside down
Ova’ the money the money the money the money the cake