60 Times 50 Cent Rapped About How Much Money He Has

Rapper-slash-entrepreneur 50 Cent (né Curtis Jackson) knows the power of the dollar, but it turns out his piggy bank is empty. He filed for bankruptcy on Monday, despite his alleged “racks on racks and racks� and repeated spots on Forbes’ wealthiest artists list. Here’s a look back at happier times, when 50 was still bragging about his 7,421 cars, his designer duds, and his bloated bank accounts.

Power of the Dollar, 2000

“Thug Love�
Fifth Ave. shit, baby, Fendi furs
I ain’t tight with the chips, girl
I’m down to splurge
If it’s ice you like I’ll light up your life
VS2 Clarity alright

“The Good Die Young�
It’s the money that makes shit get ugly
It’s the money that makes these hoes love me
It’s the money that makes niggas wanna slug me
Man, I thought the money would make it all lovely

“That Ain’t Gangsta�
I represent niggas in the hood gettin’ rich
Man, I stack chips and I unload clips

“Make Money by Any Means�
Yo, it’s all about the cash you getting
Bricks you flipping, the whips you sitting

“Material Girl 2000�
Hey, Shorty, why you like me? Huh? You like the way I spit?

Platinum iced out, got rid of that gold shit
I love my lifestyle, you, too, you love it
That I could blow 20,000 and think nothin’ of it

Know you wouldn’t fuck with me if I had no ends
Probably wouldn’t fuck in the whip if it wasn’t a Benz

“Yo You Ain’t No Gangsta�
Look, if you ain’t worth a mil, you ain’t far from broke

Got 20-inch chrome sittin’ on my Pirellis
Lorenzo on the Benzo, nigga, you feel me?

“Power of Money�
It’s all about the cash, keep it in a stash

And I keep them in a safe place, just like my funds
I keep all my big bills, give my wifey the ones

Get Rich or Die Tryin’, 2003

“What Up Gangsta�
Hundred Gs I stash it, the Mac I blast it

“Patiently Waiting�
The way I turn the money over you should call me flipper

I got pennies for my thoughts, now I’m rich

“In Da Club�
My flow, my show brought me the dough
That bought me all my fancy things
My crib, my cars, my pools, my jewels
If you talking about money, homie, I ain’t concerned
I’mma tell you what Banks told me ‘cause go ahead, switch the style up
If niggas hate then let them hate and watch the money pile up

“Heat�
I done made myself a millionaire by myself
Now shit changed, motherfucker, I can hire some help

“If I Can’t�
Tell niggas “Get they money right� cause I got mine
I’m the dropout who made more more money than these teachers
It feels good to blow 50 grand and think nothing of it fuck it

“P.I.M.P.�
Come get money with me if you curious to see
How it feels to be with a P-I-M-P
Roll in the Benz with me, you could watch TV
From the backseat of my V, I’m a P-I-M-P
I told you fools before, I stay with the tools
I keep a Benz, some rims, and some jewels

“Like My Style�
Wanna get rich I’ll show you how

“Poor Lil Rich�
I let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me

I was a poor nigga, now I’m a rich nigga
Getting paper now you can’t tell me shit, nigga

My money come in lumps, my pockets got the mumps
I’m in the Benz on Monday, the BM on Tuesday
Range on Wednesday, Thursday I’m in the hooptay
Porsche on Friday, I do things my way
Vipe or Vette, I tear up the highway

The Massacre, 2005

“This Is 50�
Now I gotta have shoes, you know chrome 22s
Every time I get a brand new whip
I rode around in the five ‘til my money got right
Then I went back and got that six

“I’m Supposed to Die Tonight�
There’s eight-one carat stones in my necklace

I don’t talk that rich shit but nigga I’m filthy

“Piggy Bank�
Yeah, yeah get more money, more money
Yeah — yeah, yeah get more money, more money
Yeah — yeah, yeah get more money, more money
Yeah — yeah, yeah get more money, more money

Banks’ shit, sells; Buck’s shit, sells
Game’s shit, sells; I’m rich as — hell

“Gatman and Robbin�
I go hard for that paper, homie, I just gotta get it
Got a money scheme, you plot it, you can count me in I’m with it

“Outta Control�
The fact is I got more than I flaunt, yeah

“Ski Mask Way�
Make money, make money money money
Nigga, if you ask me, this the only way
Take money, take money money money

“Ryder Music�
A East Coast crib the size of a small hotel
Cruisin’, rims gleamin’ like the stones on my wrist
Zonin’, guess this is how it feels to be rich

Bein’ broke is against my religion, now I’m caked up

“Disco Inferno�
I get dough to flip dough, to get more fa’ sho’

You see me shining, lit up wit diamonds

If you see me rolling, you know I’m holding
I’m ‘bout my paper, yeah

“Gunz Come Out�
In that new Rolls with the suicide doors
22-inch chrome, a nigga money long

“Position of Power�
Look at this stack, I got money, I got money!
I come through your hood, stunting in my yellow Lam’

Murcielago, top down, nigga, damn
30 carats on the pinky, kiss the ring on the Don

I got a hundred mil from music, a hundred grand from crack
Gonna see my jeweler so I can blow a stack

“I Don’t Need ‘Em�
I turn a quarter to a half, that’s why they mess with me
I’m the neighborhood pusher, I move packs to make stacks

Curtis, 2007

“I Get Money�
I, I get money, money I got (I, I get it)
I, I get money, money I got (I, I get it)
I, I get money, money I got (Yeah)
Money, money I got, money, money I got (I run New York!)
I, I get money, money I got (I, I get it)
I, I get money, money I got (I, I get it)
I, I get money, money I got (Yeah, yeah)
Money, money I got, money, money I got (I run New York!)

I took quarter water sold it in bottles for two bucks
Coca-Cola came and bought it for billions, what the fuck?
Have a baby by me baby, be a millionaire
I write the check before the baby comes, who the fuck cares?
I’m stanky rich, I’mma die trying to spend this shit

I did play the block, now I play on boats
In the South of France baby, Saint-Tropez
Get a tan, I’m already black, rich, I’m already that

Ferrari, I’m sorry, I keep blowing up

It’s the ice on my neck, man, the wrist and my left hand
Bling like bloaw, you like my style
Ha ha — I’m heading to the bank right now

“Come and Go�
I’m fresh out on bail, my Benz is all kitted
Five TVs, my rims is so siddick

Money comes with it, hot shit, I spit it

Think I’m bullshitting, my money’s touching the ceiling
Ain’t buying condos, I’m buying the whole building

My Rolls Royce’s tinted, your Phantom’s rented

“Ayo Technology�
I’m balling, throwing money around

“Follow My Lead�
I got dough, plenty, baby, you can blow with me
And baby, I know that money ain’t everything
But it’s fo’ sho’

Matter fact, we can do it right in back of my Benz

“Movin’ On Up�
Yeah, we gettin’ that dough for sure, we moving on up
You’ll get chromed up
Cash is flow, for sure, the dough, nigga, you know what?

I’m ‘bout my bread now, I’ll cut your head now

Yeah, I stunt in the Vette, got stash in the Vette

“Straight to the Bank�
I’m in my Lambo, maggot, my fo’ fo’ faggot
Doors lift up, I’m like Go Go Gadget

I got fo’ fifths and bananas on the Ks
And got more whips than a runaway slave
When I made 50 mil, Em got paid
When I made 60 mil, Dre got paid
When I made 80 mill, Jimmy got paid
I ain’t even gotta rap now, life is made
Said I ain’t even gotta rap, I’m filthy, mane

I’m laughing straight to the bank with this
(Ha, ha ha ha ha ha, ha, ha ha ha ha ha)

I keep nothing but hundred-dollar bills in the bank roll
I got the kind of money that the bank can’t hold

“All of Me�
Dough come quicker and quicker, flow gets sicker and sicker
Straight up and down, baby, I’m a special kind of nigga
I own Ferrari horses, my Lamborghini leans

God gave me a gift, I’m supposed to be rich

Before I Self Destruct, 2009

“The Invitation�
I had 500 grams and 50 in 58 bags
Fo’-hundred Benz, 8,000 in cash

Getting money is necessary; see me, I’m a visionary

“Death to My Enemies�
My hands itch when the money comes, it’s hard to explain it
Last time I itched like this, a truckload came in
Get money, get bread, that’s what I do, kid

“So Disrespectful�
See me I’m what you never gon’ be
I’m in that tax bracket you never gon’ see

Got my son on some fly shit, now I gotta buy shit

“Crime Wave�
Yeah — I’m No. 1 on Forbes
Yeah — they can’t fuck with your boy
Tax time is crack time, I flip that, get that back
Louie V. knapsack filled up with G-stacks
I’m sick in the head, me, I’m all ‘bout the bread

Fantastic, man, I make the money come faster, man, yeah

“Strong Enough�
We getting paper, in God we trust

I’m rich now, niggas know about my dividends
Look at the Robb Report, check out what I’m living in
Fuck a spot now, I’m ‘bout to buy a yacht now
Crib the size of the New York City block now

“Get It Hot�
My watch game crazy, Audemar’s so icy

I’m in that rich nigga fraternity, we only talk bread
Got money out the asshole, the money on my head

I’m flashy, I’m rolling with the stones
Get at me, I’m moving with the chrome

I’m shining, my wrists all canary

“Gangsta’s Delight�
My neck and my ear get to flicking like a strobe
My wrist and my whips have niggas like whoa
It’s bottle after bottle ‘til G-stacks are blown

“I Got Swag�
I got swag now, I got paper, I’m rolling in the dough, I’m caked up
I got swag now, I got paper, I’m swimming in the dough, I’m caked up

I was a real bum, now I’m really rich, kid
I come through the hood in some really, really sick shit
The Rolls, the roof gone, your flows, they’re lukewarm

It’s Gucci this, Gucci that, Gucci hat

Wrists rocked up shining, flawless diamonds
You could hardly see the face on my Audemar time and
Louis belt wrapped around right where the TEC be at

Getting paper’s my objective, yup, now your chain gone

We both rock Bugarri, both push Ferraris

“Baby by Me�
Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire

“Do You Think About Me�
You think about money when you think about me, huh?

I’m the boss, Bentley or the Porsche?

“OK, You’re Right�
Okay, you’re right (I’m rich)

I blow 50 Gs, I mean with ease like this is nothing
Please don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to my jeweler
He’s putting them diamonds all over my Franck Muller

I blew a hundred Gs on my bitches in Miami

When I say I’m balling I’m not talking ‘bout a ball
I’m talkin’ ‘bout Tiffany & Co. stones out the mall

Me, I’m like that painting on the wall, baby, I’m priceless

“Flight 187�
My lawyers on retainers every month, I give ‘em stacks

“Man’s World�
When you come from where I’m from you come from the bottom
They ain’t supposed to get this rich

“Get Low�
I blew 10, I blew 20
It’s nothin’ to me, I get money
I eat, sleepin’, I shit money

5 (Murder by Numbers), 2012

“My Crown�
My whip clean, my watch gleam
9 karats, ho, that’s what I call a pinky ring

I might want stunt, throw a hunnid racks
Get my man strapped, he gon’ get my money back

I could fit like half the projects in my crib
Turn the big bags a birthday cake
I can even fit this shit in my safe

Got more money coming, try not to hate
I get the bread, I blow the bread
I’m flashing, I’m shining
I get the bread, I blow the bread
My bitches, my diamonds

“United Nations�
Ah, I got big bags of paper I’mma spend

I don’t give a flying fuck, I always make bail
Motherfuck an award, check Forbes, I’m there
Not once, every year

“Roll That Shit�
Made a Southside nigga get a pocket full of bread
Got that Bentley Mulsanne to match that boat
Beige leather seats in it, they match that dope

Nigga, my money can’t fit in no safe
Got a mil for erry li’l bump on yo’ face
Tryin’ to count mine, I’m walkin up in the vault

“Turn the Lights On�
I’m rich bitch, I say, “move,� you get to moving
I’m a Bently Mulsanne type nigger, I’m cruising
Got a penthouse around my wrist, I’m flashing out
Condo’ around my neck, I’m cashing out
I’m nigger rich, got everything a rich nigger get
I got whips for days, I got kick for days
Louis, Hermès, Jimmy Choos
Ferragamo, Dolce Gabbana, red-bottom Loubs
Plus I got the Prada collection

Nigga, I don’t give a fuck ‘bout these hoes
I’m focused on the money, MONEY (money) MONEY!

I blew, now I’m sittin on Bugatti boat money
I’m eatin, I get money, nigga, I shit money
It smell like Benjamins, it boosts my adrenaline
Go ‘head, fuck around, I got marksmen hit money

Talkin ‘bout private jet, heliport chopper money

I’m in London blowin’ pounds, Japan blowin’ yen

I got a frog, a dog with a solid-gold bone
An accountant to count the amount I spent
I got it made, I got Brinks truck money
Euros, grams, you wan’ borrow some from me?
My bank statements have you niggas like, “Damn!�
Bitch I got more (francs) than a hot dog man

“Can I Speak to You�
This is next-level mack shit, that’s why my money stack quick
12 Vs V12 half of them triple black, bitch

Animal Ambition, 2014

“Hold On�
I woke up this morning, this is insane
Rich as a motherfucker, and ain’t much changed

That money coming in like we run the streets

That Rollie all gold, I got the Midas touch

“Don’t Worry ‘Bout It�
Don’t worry ‘bout how I get my money, bitch, just know I get my money
Don’t worry ‘bout I spend my money, boy, I got a lot
Don’t worry ‘bout that car I drive, don’t worry ‘bout that bike I ride
Don’t worry ‘bout them diamonds in that bezel on my watch

My closet full of that fly shit, black card when I buy shit

Why you worry ‘bout my money, nigga? Bitch, you think I’m broke?

Don’t worry ‘bout how they look at me
My diamonds on, damn, look at me

We holding, bill folding, you know it
When I start to ball out money start to fall out
Throw it up, it fall out the sky

“Animal Ambition�
Got a blue fleet of whips, I’m so hood nigga rich

You see me stunting with my diamonds on, everything proper
Your shit look chrome and your shit look copper

“Pilot�
Bitches be on my dick, designer threads, I’m fly as shit

Every day I get birthday cake
There’s 100 racks there in that safe

I zip Giuseppes, I don’t tie no lace
Tom Ford, YSL, nigga, run and tell, I’m fly as hell
Big Bentley, Mulsanne, no LP, just two songs

Them shoes more than you think though
My bitch look like my bank roll

“Smoke�
Facts, I stack racks on racks and racks

Back when I was pumping crack, now my cards are black
Nigga, get on my level, bark with the big dogs
If I want it I buy it, I don’t care what this shit costs

“Everytime I Come Around�
Boy, get outta line get your ass checked, got 10 mil my last check
Bitches stay where that cash at, diamonds on me I flash that

“Hustler�
My mind on the money, I ain’t tripping on the hos
I blow a whole lot of paper on clothes

Let ‘em sag, my swag is True Religion
You gonna need Cartier frames to see my vision

Stack paper like I’m trying to fix the national debt

Socks, drawers, undershirt, Versace, Versace, Versace
Designer threads in every form of fashion

I’m in that black on black Porsche Panamera

“You Know�
Them bottles ain’t shit to me, a nigga got bread
I’m big money, big business, I love it