Lloyd Banks - Show Time (The Games Over) lyrics

[Intro: {DJ Whoo Kid}] OK, OK, OK! {Whooooooooooooooooooooooooooo Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid!} That's it! Hahahahh! You stupid motherf**er! Huh? I'm what you wanna be, n***a! Huh! Talk that sh** in front of me, man. You already know what time it is man, it's the Unit! (uh!) Ain't no one better! (yeah!) [gunshot] [Verse:] One's for the money! - Two's for the groove, I cruise! - On the interstate so smooth. (uh-huh!) Rather be the rebel, move when I wanna move (yeah!) 30 days straight, 30 pair new shoes! (b**h!) Fools! - Feelin' like they got sh** to prove (uh-huh!) Lose or lose, you do not get to choose (eh-eh!) Sparks crackling on the top of my view The rap A-Bomb, so n***a stay calm! [gunshot] The flow's way gone! - Blue and gray charm Long firearm, that'll do way harm. (yeah) I'm a don! - b**h lock on! The "www.ididit.com"! (ugh!) Tried to ruin 'em! (yeah!) - Now I'm on 'em! (yeah!) From midnight to morning the kid Michael Jordan. (ugh!) Disappear in thin air the car often Come to your front door like a orphan! ("DJ Whoo Kid! ") Breeze in the lot! - Nibble off the auction (uh-uh!) Dude's exhaustion, I brought New York in. (errr!) You ever seen a walkin' and talkin' coffin! (huh? !) Well, that's what I see when I see you again! [gunshot] You bumped heads with the OD'er The overseer; see my chrome millimeter (WHOOO!) Either! - You're just dumb or had too much reefer Oh, you ain't with it, well I ain't with it either! [blast] Just my luck, you slip into a seizure (uh!) Rap don't need ya, slip in cold ether (damn!) That's speak through a filter and get a microphone fever Big heart, the temperature of the freezer. (freezer!) News flash - NOBODY believes ya! (uh-huh!) Hold your f**in' head! - Developed amnesia. (haha!) You ain't me! - Let alone a leader! Yeah! - You don't even write your own sh**! (n***a!) You feeling hype then go sit I'll break off a brick and light the whole strip! (pop! pop! pop!) You want attention! - So I'm addressin' ya n***a, I can wrestle ya, a .38 special ya! (uh!) [gunshot] Come Christmas, it gets messier The rap messeng ya, running n***as over! Yeah, I shine! - Line for line, I (yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!) Outwit Einstein, pounds of crime grind. {Whoooooooooooooooooo Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid!} That SouthSide bullsh**, I'm on it! (uh!) Time to make 'em sick, lung full of vomit. That's what you get when you spar with Muhammad (uh-huh!) co*ktail bombs in your car do a comet. [blast] The hood made him cover up the bu*terfly! (bu*terfly!) Now I'll make him cover up the other eye! (eea!) Cause you ain't never merked nuttin, that's another lie n***a, don't make me, hum you a lullaby! (naaaaaaah!) ("DJ Whoo Kid!") What's that, you ain't got no help now (noooow!) They left you all alone for your meltdown. [shot] You cryin' in the dark and I knew it Next time you think about k**in' yourself, do it! (that's cold!) [shot] Cause you a - b**h-a** n***a anyway you view it, It ain't no one from Compton 'til I can't do it. I'm from a town where they all love fluid, Anybody that can wear a tounge ring can't talk tough. (uh!) {Whoooooooooooooooooooooooooo} You ain't even seeing half of Fif' {Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid!} You're only one album in and 50 wrote half of it! (haha!) You said you a rider and you thuggin'! Turn around and hug Joe Buddens! [blast] (AAAAGGGHHH!) Now, either that's soft or I'm buggin' That's what happens when you turn nuttin' into something. That boy bluffin', he'll talk if they cuff him It's "All About The Benjamins" and playin' phone, f** him! ("DJ Whoo Kid!") [Outro:] Yeah! That's it man! I ain't finished yet playin' with your stupid a**, man! You confused motherf**er! Hahahahh! I got a little advice for your a** too man Next time you in the room and... You're all alone... with the light off! An'-an'- and stuck in the closet! With your pistol in your mouth! Thinkin' about blowing your noodles out, nig'! Haha! Just go ahead and do it man, trust me! [shot] You're better off that way! You're not authentic, n***a! You're a copy! f*ggot... [gunshot] [beat stops] [Interlude: 50 Cent] 50 Cent, man check this out! Hot G-Unit material; Lloyd Bank$!