[Lloyd Banks]
Man what the fuck are you lookin for?
Cant a young nigga make money any more
Blow a couple grand in the NBA Store
Rock twenty-four thousand on the NBA floor
Niggaz be on stage bendin over on tour
Leave anti-social with a case of lochjaw
Just cause shorty look good, dont mean that you should go
puttin ice on the bitch like she won the Superbowl
Even the chips are low, for all these so-called old heads
Just aint the same niggaz I used to know
I got a Houston ho - nah she aint the sharpest knife
in the drawer but she a damn good booster though
See I could fuck a supermodel with my {?} works
Send her home with a smile and a couple kids on her shirt
I got a year into the game
A 141 rocks layin on my chain, geah!
[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
Just another day, chillin in the hood
Just another day around the way
Im tipsy off the Hennessy
We ridin round with the H-K, nigga we dont play
Just another day, chillin in the hood
Just another day around the way
We smoke a quarter pound a day
G-Unit we here to stay, nigga we dont play
[Lloyd Banks]
Nevermind the lames in my era, they all want me dead
And I know, its all over the way I see bread
Here I go, caught up in some he say/she said
Til I go, put a slug in my enemys head
The Tahoes, bulletproof so you cant get through
Then follow, your ass and whoever ran with you
And you about as assed-out as two jammed pistols
Bleedin around a bunch of niggaz who cant fix you
So bring yours, cause you know I got mine with me kid
The 8ll make you lose weight like Missy did
The O.G.s tryin to hide they phony smilin
Reputation always arise in Coney Island
Im at your local newsstand jerk
While the only XXL you been in as a shirt
And, speakin of shirts, get a new white T
God damn it feels good to be me - nigga!
[Chorus]
[Lloyd Banks]
Now Im goin, shoppin with a plastic card now
Im growin, knockin international broads down
They know him, theyre not gonna even pat the star down
Im holdin, a glock so dont even act that hard now
You might bust your gun but your gats in the car clown
So break your lil weed up and crack your cigars down
Cause I aint tryin to start my visits, with the fuckin judge
givin niggaz life like its parkin tickets
Now I get to go to bed with a model
And the crib is bout as big as it is on the Belvedere bottle
I got all kind of ex I could ram in they faces
Red and blue pills like the man in The Matrix
You might have spent some paper on your lil charm but
My piece is bout as heavy as Lil Jon cup
But, its never tucked, nigga I dont give a fuck
Ill get bucked fore I give somethin up, yup!
[Chorus]
[ad libs]

- Volver a las Canciones del Album The Hunger For More

- Volver a los Discos de Lloyd Banks