Lloyd Banks - Get That Money lyrics

[50 Cent] Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah!) Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah) [Hook 3X: 50 Cent] Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah!) Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah) [50 Cent] G-G-G-G-G, G-Unit! 50 Cent uhh, Greg Street, ATL to Dallas You heard me? Check it out Porsche spots, drop, gun in the stash, box Get your b**h-a**, shot stuntin around here, here Flow so, hot, they say I got it, locked Hold on a second homie, let's get this clear Look the wrists stay, rocked, the Ruger stay, co*ked I hope you smoke a lot cause I supply your weed, spots Got a few questions and I need the answer on the spot That b**h you with, she like you or she like what you got? Tryin to maintain, tearin n***as out the frame Semi-automatic flows; you know how it goes Boss, B-O-S-S-M-A-N, gun in hand Understand, gettin money is the plan Greg Street is my man [Hook] [Stat Quo] Uhh, gettin money, YEAH! Stat Quo baby, Atlanta's own in this thang Uh, uh I stays by my 'fetti baby, big boy Chevy baby Choose a pimp, hop on in, only if you're ready baby Ain't no ifs or maybes, motherf**ers gotta pay me Radio, gotta play me, stack a mil', I know you hate me Stat Quo partner got a stable full of head dollars All my folk cold choppers, even though the Feds watch us Tired of duckin the blockas, shawty fresh as {?} Snitchers sing to the coppers like all them tryin to stop a G Playa ain't no stoppin me, I'm the n***a that you tryin to be Live from Atlanta or in Dallas with my homie Street Ain't no way or ain't no eat, my mom used to make lunch free My ma speak, now that's street, that the way we do We gettin money (yea!) [Hook] [Lloyd Banks] Look, it's on now time to cut the cake, f** the Jake, tuck the plate Make a move, dump the eight, guaranteed to pump his breaks Too pissy drunk the case, ain't got a month to waste Smile with a pumpkin face, deep enough to jump the states Stuff him in the trunk escape - you want a problem f** the ba**, up the stakes, everything I wear is up-to-date Loyal cat, guarantee my son'll be a spoiled brat Hot enough to boil crack, M-5, all you black I'm the reason all you rap, admit it I'm daddy black Doin this since "Caddy Shack" with Greg Street in that Cadi-llac Blowin on a pillow pack, I call it Koffee Brown b**hes can't get off me now, rasta-man toss me pounds I ain't from a softy town, n***as'll break your bones, crack your faith Call the doctor, let him put it back in place [50 Cent] Ha ha ha, 50 Cent yeah What you gon' do boy? From New York to Atlanta to Dallas boy I'm all over the place, I'm international playa You heard me? Ha ha ha Case you dealt with me