Artist/Band:
Lloyd Banks
Lyrics for Song: Lloyd Banks
Lyrics for Album: Other Songs - Lloyd Banks
[Lloyd Banks]
Yeah, 20 miles an hour in my long Bentely
shame on you hater, this what the Lord sent me
lately I've been practicing my gas face
cause that's what I'ma give em when they land in last place
hand right by the,they aint too many seeing us
so they wanna take my gifts
but I wrap em with the (?)
my regular (?)
currency and cashmere
you drove (?) your way, I told her she can crash here
yeah I'm counting paper like the cashier
living like I'm limited, grieving like its my last year
my boy in and out the box, super stupid soldier
told me if he could do it again he'd do it over
Poverty's king cobra, squeeze ya life out
cause its the fatalities and casualtes I should wirte 'bout
these rappers aint iced out, they just fooling
running round town fakers, zirconian cubic
[Chorus]
Only money matters in the game, f-ck the fame
I gotta eat dollar signs, feed my hunger pain
music like me, dont worry, leave you numb the same
play me like I'm something sweet
be apart of summer slayin'
most hate it most doubt it
thats what they shout it
I'm on top now, there's nothing they can do about it
they better have ya out
cause where I'm from, there aint no way around it
home sweet home
[Pusha T]
I'ma f-cking rap til you blue in the face
you'll probably turn into smurfs with the time that you waste
throughout histroy they throwing shots at the greats
but I shoot back, the Lord aint designed me for hate
I've never understood Martin Luther with the speech
with the whole World watching me, turn the other cheek?
never, so there's one left to die in the streets
cause his long arms happens to connect with his reach
try to kill you then, them near misses was God's kisses
true Hollywood story, ghetto tie bridges
different strokes that n-ggas broke the (?) reach
you only read about the cars that I paddle shift
you only dream about the (?) that I dabble with
balcony views, postcard, imagine this
white stones, black steel cold chrome
this city's my doormat, them home sweet home
[Chorus]
[Lloyd Banks]
See me where you see me
always seen
off the Queens magazines, pissy hallway scenes
paying crowds, hunger screams, pressure crumbles teams
f-ck being humble in the jungle where they fumble dreams
drugs for the living, Henny (?) for the body
crosses for the power, ghetto for the smiley
pitbull, I bit my way out the cage, whats happening
competition got me on the Rampage, Jackson
part of my reaction to they corny ass raps
keep flirting with death and get your horny ass clapped
back for more me, rat tat, kiss the ring, beat respect out them
bloody heads, turn timbalands to red bottoms
50 bottles just a start now thats how they do it
carbon fibre through the Spyder playin' rider music
aint no question of my resume, I gotta prove it
life's a b-tcha nd I get (?)
[Chorus]
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