"Fast car" is kind of a continuation of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." It has all the clawing your way to a better life, but in this case the protagonist never makes it with her love; in fact she is dragged back down by him.
There is still an amazing amount of hope and will in the lyrics; and the lyrics themselve rank and easy five. If only music was stronger it would be one of those great radio songs that you hear once a week 20 years after it was released. The imagery is almost tear-jerking ("City lights lay out before us", "Speeds so fast felt like I was drunk"), and the idea of starting from nothing and just driving and working and denigrating yourself for a chance at being just above poverty, then losing in the end is just painful and inspiring at the same time.
G-Unit (bah), we in here (bah)
We can get the drama popping, we don't care (bah-bah-bah)
It's goin' down (bah), 'cause I'm around (bah)
50 Cent, you know how I gets down
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
They say I walk around like got an S on my chest
Nah, that's a semi-auto, and a vest on my chest
I try not to say nothing, the DA might want to play in court
But I'll hunt a duck nigga down, like it's a sport
Front on me, I'll cut ya gun-butt ya or bump ya
You gettin' money? I can't get none wit' ya, then fuck ya
I'm not the type to get knocked for DWI
I'm the type that kill your connect when the coke price rise
Gangstas, they bump my shit, them they know me
I grew up around some niggas that's not my homies
Hundred G's I stash it (what?), the MAC I blast it (yeah)
D's come, we dump the diesel and battery acid
This flow's been mastered, the ice, I flash it
Jux me, I'll have your mama pickin' out your casket, bastard
I'm on the next level, Breitling baguette bezel
Benz pedal to the metal, hotter than a tea kettle, blood (what)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that
G-Unit, we don't play around
I sit back, twist the best bud, burn and wonder
When gangstas bump my shit, can they hear my hunger?
When the fifth kick, duck quick, it sound like thunder
In December, I'll make your block feel like summer
The rap critics say I can rhyme
The fiends say my dope is a nine, every chick I fuck with is a dime
I'm like Patti LaBelle, homie, I'm on my own
Where I lay my hat's my home, I'm a rolling stone
Cross my path I'll crush ya, thinkin' I won't touch ya
I'll have your ass usin' a wheelchair, cane or crutches
Industry hoes fuck us, in the hood they love us
Stomp a bone out your ass with some brand new Chukkas
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
We can get the drama popping, we don't care (bah-bah-bah)
It's goin' down (bah), 'cause I'm around (bah)
50 Cent, you know how I gets down
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
They say I walk around like got an S on my chest
Nah, that's a semi-auto, and a vest on my chest
I try not to say nothing, the DA might want to play in court
But I'll hunt a duck nigga down, like it's a sport
Front on me, I'll cut ya gun-butt ya or bump ya
You gettin' money? I can't get none wit' ya, then fuck ya
I'm not the type to get knocked for DWI
I'm the type that kill your connect when the coke price rise
Gangstas, they bump my shit, them they know me
I grew up around some niggas that's not my homies
Hundred G's I stash it (what?), the MAC I blast it (yeah)
D's come, we dump the diesel and battery acid
This flow's been mastered, the ice, I flash it
Jux me, I'll have your mama pickin' out your casket, bastard
I'm on the next level, Breitling baguette bezel
Benz pedal to the metal, hotter than a tea kettle, blood (what)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that
G-Unit, we don't play around
I sit back, twist the best bud, burn and wonder
When gangstas bump my shit, can they hear my hunger?
When the fifth kick, duck quick, it sound like thunder
In December, I'll make your block feel like summer
The rap critics say I can rhyme
The fiends say my dope is a nine, every chick I fuck with is a dime
I'm like Patti LaBelle, homie, I'm on my own
Where I lay my hat's my home, I'm a rolling stone
Cross my path I'll crush ya, thinkin' I won't touch ya
I'll have your ass usin' a wheelchair, cane or crutches
Industry hoes fuck us, in the hood they love us
Stomp a bone out your ass with some brand new Chukkas
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, Cuz? (What?)
What up, Blood? (What?)
What up, gangsta?
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
We don't play that
We don't play that
We don't play that (G-Unit)
We don't play around
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
What Up Gangsta Lyrics as written by Robert Tewlow Curtis Jackson
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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Fast Car
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