50 Cent – Get Rich or Die Tryin'

A seventy-second scene-setter with 50 counting money and delivering threats over minimal percussion. It establishes the tone and gets out of the way.

The album's best opening statement. The beat is a horror-movie string loop with drums that hit hard enough to justify the threats 50 is making, and his delivery is ice-cold without trying. The writing is economical—"I'll have your ass bending over grabbing your toes"—and the hook is simple enough to chant. This is 50 at his most focused, no wasted bars, no filler. Eminem's fingerprints are all over the production, and it works because the beat leaves room for the voice. The track proves that minimalism and menace can coexist when the rapper knows how to use space.

Eminem shows up and outraps 50 on his own debut, which is both a flex and a problem. The beat is sinister, built around a whining synth and a two-step drum pattern that sounds like it is dragging itself through mud. 50's verse is solid—he keeps the threats coming without overworking the syllables—but Eminem's verse is faster, denser, and more technically impressive. The track works because the chemistry is real and the production holds the tension, but it also makes it clear that 50 is not the most skilled rapper in his own camp. Still, this is one of the album's best showcases for what the Shady/Aftermath partnership could do.

The album's darkest and most emotionally direct track. The beat—gospel organ, martial drums, eerie background vocals—is the most atmospheric production on the record, and 50 uses it to deliver his most vulnerable writing. The hook is a mantra, repeated until it sounds like paranoia set to music, and the verses detail the shooting and the fallout without turning it into mythology. This is the one track where 50 balances aggression with actual fear, and it works because the production gives him room to let the emotion come through. The writing is still simple, but simplicity is the right choice here. This is the album's emotional center, even if the rest of the tracklist does not build on it.

The single that turned 50 Cent into a global star, and it still sounds untouchable. Dr. Dre's production is a masterclass in restraint: synth stabs, a two-note bassline, handclaps, and almost nothing else. The beat exists to make room for 50's half-sung hook, which became so ubiquitous in 2003 that it is difficult to remember how sharp it sounded on first listen. The verses are pure brag rap with no wasted syllables, and the delivery is so confident that it sells lines that should not work. This is the best example of 50's ear for melody and Dre's understanding of how to build a track around a voice. It spent nine weeks at number one for a reason.

A mid-tempo track about weed and paranoia that never finds a hook strong enough to justify its existence. The beat is fine—smoky keys, a laid-back drum pattern—but 50's writing is one-note and the song drags. Filler.

Another forgettable track built around a decent beat and weak writing. 50 threatens his enemies and brags about his guns, but the verses do not land and the hook is generic. The production, handled by Dr. Dre, keeps it from collapsing, but there is no reason to return to this.

The fourth single, and one of the album's best deep cuts. The beat is built around a children's choir sample that somehow sounds menacing when paired with 50's threats, and the hook is a schoolyard chant that refuses to leave your head. The writing is straightforward—"If I can't do it, it can't be done"—but the delivery sells it, and the production is weird enough to make the song memorable. This is proof that 50 and his producers understood how to take simple ideas and turn them into earworms. The song only reached number seventy-six on the Billboard Hot 100, which says more about overcrowded single rollouts than the track's quality.

Young Buck shows up for a forgettable posse cut that sounds like it was recorded to fill time. The beat is solid, the threats are generic, and nothing sticks. Skip it.

A Ja Rule diss that names its target repeatedly but never develops the argument. The beat—originally intended for Rakim—is dark and heavy, and 50's delivery is unbothered, but the writing is just a list of insults without the specificity or wit that makes a diss track memorable. Dr. Dre reportedly made 50 tone down the original version, which also targeted Jay-Z, Nas, and others, and the neutered result feels like half a song. The track works as a statement of intent but not as an actual diss.

The third single, and one of the album's most durable tracks. The beat is minimal—just a bassline, a hi-hat, and a synth melody that sounds like it is creeping through a hotel lobby—and 50's delivery is sleazy and effortless. The hook is sung, not rapped, and it is so catchy that it distracts from the fact that the verses are just variations on the same brag. The Snoop Dogg remix, included as a bonus track, is unnecessary—the original is already complete. "P.I.M.P." became a number-one hit in several countries and remains one of 50's most recognizable songs, proof that his ear for melody could turn a simple concept into a crossover smash.

Tony Yayo shows up for a forgettable G-Unit showcase. The beat is fine, the writing is generic, and the song exists only to remind listeners that 50 has a crew. One listen is enough.

A slow, plodding track about the contradictions of wealth that never finds a point. The beat is boring, the writing is uninspired, and the song drags. Filler.

The love song that Dr. Dre did not want on the album, and the one that proves 50 Cent is more than a one-dimensional tough guy. The beat, produced by Dre, is built around a soft guitar loop and a slow-rolling bassline, and Nate Dogg handles the sung hook with the smoothness that made him one of the most reliable hook men in rap. 50's verses are vulnerable without being sappy—he asks whether his girl would stay if he lost everything, and the question feels genuine. The song spent four non-consecutive weeks at number one on the Billboard Hot 100 and became the album's second-biggest single. It is also the clearest example of 50's ability to operate outside the gangsta mode without losing his identity. The song has aged better than most 2003 R&B-rap hybrids.

Eminem and Lloyd Banks join 50 for a revenge fantasy that sounds like it was recorded in one take. The beat is ominous, the threats are vivid, and Eminem's verse is sharp enough to steal the track. 50's writing is solid—"I'm a toast to crime and live life like I'm blind"—and the chemistry between the three rappers keeps the song moving. This is one of the album's better posse cuts, proof that the Shady/G-Unit partnership worked when everyone stayed focused.

A late-album moment of reflection that arrives too late to matter. The beat is mournful, the writing is generic, and the song feels obligatory. 50 is not convincing as a repentant sinner, and the track does not earn its place on the tracklist.

Originally released on the 8 Mile soundtrack, this track was tacked onto the album as a bonus and became one of 50's breakout moments before the official debut even dropped. The beat is minimal and haunting, and 50's delivery is ice-cold as he defines what a wanksta is and why he is not one. The song built hype for the album and remains a standout, even if its inclusion here feels like an afterthought. It is shorter and sharper than most of the album's deep cuts, proof that 50 works best when he keeps it simple.

A late-album brag track that says nothing new. The beat is decent, the writing is repetitive, and the song drags. Skip it.

A rare moment where 50 drops the hooks and just raps over a minimal beat. The writing is more detailed than usual—he recounts specific moments from his past without mythologizing them—and the delivery is focused. This is one of the album's better deep cuts, proof that 50 can hold attention without a catchy chorus when he has something specific to say. The track is short, direct, and benefits from the lack of polish.

Snoop Dogg shows up for a remix that adds nothing to the original. The chemistry is fine, but the track was already complete without the guest verse. Unnecessary.