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Digital Scale (G-Unit)

I put my coke on a digital scale I put my weed on a digital scale I put my dope on a digital scale It's time to re-up what my scale read We got eightballs, sevens, fourteens, and Oz's Sixty-two eights of that raw, imported keys Half of chicken whole chicken Niggas got to cop 'n' go, yo I said you niggas got to cop 'n' go This is like fast food, nigga May I take your order? I require nothin' cookin' but bakin' soda 'n' water - ice, cold That's crack inside that Pyrex We get the work, then move the work The pressure we apply next Every now and then, a nigga set-trip I8 BMW; I'm electric Keep that hammer around me in case shit get hectic Shit pop off when I'm rhymin', I protect it Fuck around Hand me that plastic bag right there, Yayo Baggin' up half a brick My lawyer sittin' on the couch He said it's cool, Buck; I swear I won't open my mouth (I weigh a bag on the triple-beam scale) I'm all kushed out, coke under my (fingernail) My uncle been playin' with that powder, and I can tell You know that crack smell, and he lookin' all frail My sister need bail; she just caught the weed sell Now the feds on her trail I just got the email Shit crazy, but I'm still cookin' up babies Hookin' up my niggas daily with this dope Get out and get some, nigga Can't pay me if you broke, no Let a nigga hang himself - just give him enough rope I get it fresh out the boat Numbers don't lie; scales don't either Every time you out, fiends wanna reach ya Out with some bitches, fiends wanna call In the club with my niggas, fiends wanna call When I'm waitin' on them, man they never call The life of a hustler in a nutshell G-5 eatin' snakes, soup and raw fish Snakes see the Ray Phantom off of raw fish My main bitch is like Bonnie Parker My side bitch is like Clyde Barrow They start to shoot you up shit's creek without a paddle They roll up and smoke you like Kumar and Harold Catch 'em in the whip like Caine cousin, Harold My nigga flippin' on his P.O. cause he can't travel You owe me, I take your child for collateral Gun wave, hello Shots echo Won't save money - switch to gecko You known from the get-go I ain't 'bout to let nobody play with my green When they coward belly yellow Polka-dot carbine on your chest, screamin' "hold on" Hold on You see my face and let go I'm from the N.O.; better check the death toll You was playin' Casanova Cookin' bitches casserole I was on the ave with O's, me and red taggin' toes On the Greyhound bus Pounds in my baggy clothes Huh