(feat. Pusha T)





[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, breathing like it's my last air

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 write 'bout

these rappers aint iced out, they just fooling

running round town fakers, zirconian cubic



[Chorus]

Only money matters in the game, fuck the fame

I gotta eat dollar signs, feed my hunger pain

music like Heroin, 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

yall better have yall guns out

cause where I'm from, there aint no way around it

home sweet home



[Pusha T]

I'ma fucking rap til you blue in the face

you'll probably turn into smurfs with the time that you waste

throughout history 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 niggas 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

fuck 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 bitcha and I get (?)



[Chorus]