50 Cent - Banks Victory lyrics

(feat. Lloyd Banks) [50 Cent] Yo, yo we can't stay alive forever So if sh** hit the fan then we might as well die together I'm high as ever, more holes and more cheddar G-Unit move around wit them pounds and berreta's Yea f*ggot, if I want it I'm gon' have it Regardless if it's handed to me or I gotta grab it Don't make a a** outta yaself tryin to stop me I'm co*ky, raps rocky, n***a you sloppy You know that I'm, 8 levels above you n***a I'll club you n***a, I never heard of you n***a, ugly n***a I'm the wrong one to provoke You rattin on n***as is only gon' leave you smoke So the only thing left now is tools for these cowrads I got no friends, f** most of these cowards They pop sh** 'till we start approaching these cowards While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers [Lloyd Banks] I got a intergangstress who argue and steams wit reefer And who flip when I call a b**h like she Queen Latifah Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the streetsweeper This sh** can get uglier than the Master P sneaker We slidin through the ruckus, wit prada on the chuckus Soon as spring break ho's home from college wanna f** us I ain't here to drop knowledge on you s**as I'll sick rottweiler's on you f**as, cops followin to cuff us Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros When it comes to paper I blow a soul outta aero I'ma break before I lay floor berry Besides, every rapper ain't a star, n***a plad ain't bulbary You can't tame Lloyd, smokin by the big screen You changin the channel looks like I'm playin the game boy I know to watch botherin ya vision You reach and I'll put a dot on ya head like its part of yo religion Why party wit a pigeon? I'm blowin a 10 cuz Bush handin flyers for a party in a prison I'm in the gucci vest wit the green and red straps I'm the last rapper to scare n***as since Craig Mack Now every morning's a fast start And there aint problem gettin dressed cuz my closet got more aisles than pathmark Run, move startin a wave and leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs I'm the young pimp pardon my age I don't got long hair but if I did she be puttin my braids n***as find what club they at take 'em wit us, and run a train on 'em like a subway mac get advances from grey agra see these record labels got most artists gettin f**ed like the gay rappa' i go the college on the tour I'm goin down in history n***a, next to Wallace and Shakur I keep ya ammo clean, text polished in the drawer Camera's by the hamper that mine into the floor by now, you probably heard of me fresh outta surgery, flashy as a f**, you gon' have to murder me Burglary, I'm leavin wit cha nike's bergendy, White T, bergendy you match now, back down n***as love to hate you, but love you when you disappear catch me on the boat wit weed smoke and fishin' gear heavy when I toke, C notes from different years Besly in the robe, re-motes for liftin chairs You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya I send cars to crib like I'm a cab dispatcha you better off wit ya stupid guys, lookin for a coupe to drive you ain't gettin nuttin but ya french fries supersized it's a damn shame y'all still local I'm in a million dollar studio layin my vocals n***a [50 Cent] Still in the projects n***a, you ain't goin nowhere you gon' f**in be there for the rest of yo muthaf**in life and yo momma said, I'm supposed to tell you somethin..... to encourage you, somethin positive aight well I ain't gon' lie to you muthaf**a, he ain't goin nowhere get yaself a beer, get on the f**in curve f**in dirtbag