In regards to the meaning of this song:
Before a live performance on the EP Five Stories Falling, Geoff states “It’s about the last time I went to visit my grandmother in Columbus, and I saw that she was dying and it was the last time I was going to see her. It is about realizing how young you are, but how quickly you can go.”
That’s the thing about Geoff and his sublime poetry, you think it’s about one thing, but really it’s about something entirely different. But the lyrics are still universal and omnipresent, ubiquitous, even. So relatable. That’s one thing I love about this band. I also love their live performances, raw energy and Geoff’s beautiful, imperfectly perfect vocals. His voice soothes my aching soul.
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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck around if you wanna
Look at this stack, I got money, I got money!
Ha ha ha
Aw nigga don't trip, I'll kill you if you fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck around if you wanna
Lyrics submitted by babygrl814
Position of Power Lyrics as written by Curtis Jackson Jonathan Rotem
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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