letra de propane - lloyd banks
[intro]
yeah
banks, cody…
[verse 1]
hundred dollar bills for sit-up drills, my benji’ reps
ignorant, i don’t give two f-cks with fendi f’s
learning by habit, consistency made the memory stretch
turn you to an addict, your lady will kiss the bentley chest
dig your way out the ground or spend a century stressed
i get you stomped off some [?], shouldn’t tempt the vets
player haters make my temper flex
20 years of pushing this pen, an instrumental threat
death to haters, can’t even be hеre in spirit
k!ll a n-gga, set up his gofundme and stеal it
designer chronic, pockets reeking out the air vent
i can show where to buy this sh-t, can’t teach you how to wear it
it’s a waste going back and forth, success will really k!ll ’em
balling like russell westbrook, bill, or wilson
give me rappers, i’ma k!ll some, mumble is on my jacket
drop the remains in traffic, club him like i’m barbaric
star addicts
[chorus]
nothing is the same
these n-ggas don’t deserve to rock, run ’em out the game
they love it when we serve the block, this is cocaine
the temperature is falling and this sh-t ain’t gon’ change
n-gga drive safely, swerving out of lane
the pain is strong enough to make a n-gga go insane
we just want the money, y’all can have the fame
promise i’ll remain, put it my chain, propane
[verse 2]
dumb is justification is as working, does it [?] fast?
everybody just can’t be hating, my n-gga you just trash
ass kissers dropping to knees, you need the ewing pads
i ain’t seen you n-ggas since teens, still hope you doing bad
country of the serpant, y’all all in bed with the snake
black fitted reads: “when was america great?”
in the bootleg era, left competition dead on a tape
kryptonite to super save a hoe, infrared on your cape
sh-t, i’m lying? get me amputated, cradled to the casket, homie
nothing ’bout me animated, i only use the cash emoji
everybody make mistakes, let nothing out past control me
married to the motherf-cking game, frozen matrimony
hate when they compare me to n-ggas, never been even, son
hammer to a hand grenade, cannon to a bb-gun
p-ssy talking sl!ck about me, who you think was feeding them?
i pull up on you all four quarters, let the meter run
[chorus]
nothing is the same
these n-ggas don’t deserve to rock, run ’em out the game
they love it when we serve the block, this is cocaine
the temperature is falling and this sh-t ain’t gon’ change
n-gga drive safely, i’m swerving out of lane
the pain is strong enough to make a n-gga go insane
we just want the money, y’all can have the fame
promise i’ll remain, put it my chain, propane
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