Perhaps it is this jealousy that attracts me to his songs and his lifestyle. 50 Cent has his own kind of jealousy, though. The ladies like him, he claims. After all, he�s fucked with Dre and he sells records like Eminem. How can you not like a guy who boasts that? But the ladies don�t love him like they love Tupac, he claims. And that, really, is what drives this song. Sure, you can find him in the club, partying like it�s someone�s birthday. And yeah, he might not even care that it isn�t anyone�s birthday. But when he goes home at night, still slightly drunk off Bacardi, after all the sexual escapades he can handle, what does he have to show for it? One might say his record sales are worth his emptiness. But are they? The ladies still don�t like him like Tupac. And they don�t like me like 50 cent. And that�s where the beauty of my jealousy comes in to play. I feel his need for recognition. The rest of the song is all about the various shiny objects he has and, I think, he talks some more about wanting to rub people. I don�t really know, because the music was giving me a headache, so I turned it off. I do remember him mentioning being shot, but not limping. I found that kind of quirky. |