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letra de work out pt 4 - lloyd banks

uh! circle the crib cause they follow ya’
jealousy’s startin’ to show like the ribs in somalia
cover ya tracks or the pigs will swallow ya’
and make it easier being a part of ya
i’m a survivor! even with the .9!
the baseball bat, switchblade or screwdriver
the llam’ got a kick like rowdy rowdy piper
i put ya brain all over ya windshield wiper
n-gga’ go practice, the flow is ferocious
million dollar face and it’s all over posters!
we living great so we hit the shows and roasters
them n-gga’s hate so we hit the show with toasters
project b-tches! those is holsters
we ain’t off point cause hoes approach us
slip up and i’m a steamroll you roaches
i roll with the vultures they eager to pop ya
i give you a reason to believe in ya doctor!
f-ck a bentley! i got a key to the chopper
with zoom in vision. it’s easy to spot ya!
and yeah, i went platinum off my first l.p!
but it’s all off one record so i’m gon’ do three
there’s only so long i’m gon’ take the hate
before i ddt ya -ss like jake the snake
n-gga’ rather see a thug dead, cause i love bread!
the uzi’ll have you flyin’ like spud webb
i’m something like the rap-ravishing rick
i’m that sl1ck! that’s why all these n-gga’s on my d-ck!
( ? ) reach and respond to them
but i’m like nope! you just mad because you broke
you won’t be satisfied ’til i get you in the yoke
and i keep squeezing, ’til you slipping in a stroke
then i’m dipping in a boat and every bar i wrote
sent chills through ya veins like i’m dipping in the c0ke
i ride the track harder than pippen when you broke
i lean on the beat like a fiend on dope
the boy been hot before hammer went broke
tyson was bittin’ and rakim had the rope
i’m chilling while you act hard
sipping on lemonade that the maid made from the tree in the backyard!
i got my own sneaker, d-ck! i don’t wear those!
the entrepren-n-gga’ won’t put on their clothes
the industry’s filled with a bunch of f-ckin’ weirdo’s
actin like they don’t want diamonds in their earlobe
so what hood you grew up in?
cause comin’ where i’m from, motherf-ckas want something!
my eyes all poky and red, cause me and buck like smoky and craig
you learn something if you open up ya head
i don’t party unless they pay me
you want me to perform that’s an extra 80
you almost on your last meal
so i got three words for you, straight outta ca$hville!

- lloyd banks

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