Lloyd Banks - Eye for Eye lyrics

[Produced by Hi-Tek] [Intro: 50 Cent] Yeah, I like the way this feel This make me wanna just, G-G-G-G, G-Unit! Buck somethin, hahaha G-Unit! [Hook: 50 Cent] n***a you sh** on me, I sh** on you You put a hit on me, I put a hit on you An eye for an eye n***a Survive the shots or die n***a [Bridge: Lloyd Banks] They can't hold me I'm Lloyd Banks the one and only Not your buddy, not your pal, not your homie They ain't a government around that can control me Oh no! [Verse 1: Lloyd Banks]] Uhh, I'm on that "Doggystyle" sh**, man I don't love a ho Poppa wasn't 'round, so I had to let my brother know Never stay at centre, play the back and let your money grow Most them n***as wouldn't be around if you was bummy yo Southside Jamaica neighbor yeah that's where I come from If you see a n***a with me then there's more than one gun Fly straight soldier, ain'tcha tired of bein' the dumb one Or are you satisfied bein' another n***a's dunn-dunn We all know friendships turnin' sour when you gettin' it Some n***as hate me in the hood, but I don't owe them n***as sh** Smilin' all up my face like I don't know them n***as sick But I can care less, I'm on the Island and I'm gettin' rich [Hook] [Verse Two: Young Buck] Walk it and talk it, spit it how I live it n***a Came from the country, Dirty South get it n***a Feds try and question me, they run up in my ho-tel They said there was a shootin', but they found no shells New York City hell they throwin' n***as under jails I got love for them and I ain't even from there Now bust a shot for them boys on da block I can feel your pain n***a, I'm still in the game n***a There's somethin' bout the sound of a trey pound That make me pull up, hop out, and make a n***a lay down See every time we 'round, you hear some shots go off And n***as get they chains snatched when they tryin' to show off Shoot-outs in broad day, we do it the mob way And come to find out, these n***as softer than Sade' I'mma keep livin' my life with a pistol in my palm And a wrist full of ice, you can call me a Don motherf**er [Interlude: singing] We got the Hei-ny So make one wrong move and you're dying Ain't no time for coppin a plea and crying Cause my n***as ain't gon' stop ridin' So you gone [Hook] [Verse Three: 50 Cent] I got a handgun habit, n***a front I'll let you have it When the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at it I'm allergic to the feathers on these bird-a** n***as Front and I'll put your brains on that curb fast n***a I ain't a marksman, one spark and I spray sh** Nuff rounds from that H-K, I don't play b**h Move like I'm militant, back on that gorilla sh** Moody, disrespectful, unruly, but n***as can't move me I squeeze till I run out of ammo, if it's a problem it's handled I have your people pourin' our liquor and lightin' candles You f** around I blow your brains on my New York Times Run home, turn to the sports section and read your mind It's crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bust First there's crime scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse We don't go to funerals, but we'll go to your wake fam Do your body all banged up, you made a mistake man [Hook]