Lloyd Banks - Work Out Pt 4 lyrics

Uh! Circle the crib cause they follow ya' Jealousy's startin' to show like the ribs in Somalia Cover ya tracks or the pigs will swallow ya' And make it easier being a part of ya I'm a survivor! Even with the .9! The baseball bat, switchblade or screwdriver The Llam' got a kick like Rowdy Rowdy Piper I put ya brain all over ya windshield wiper n***a' go practice, the flow is ferocious Million dollar face and it's all over posters! We living great so we hit the shows and roasters Them n***a's hate so we hit the show with toasters Project b**hes! Those is holsters We ain't off point cause hoes approach us Slip up and I'm a steamroll you roaches I roll with the vultures they eager to pop ya I give you a reason to believe in ya doctor! f** a Bentley! I got a key to the chopper With zoom in vision. It's easy to spot ya! And yeah, I went Platinum off my first L.P! But it's all off one record so I'm gon' do three There's only so long I'm gon' take the hate Before I DDT ya a** like Jake the Snake n***a' rather see a thug dead, cause I love bread! The Uzi'll have you flyin' like Spud Webb I'm something like the rap-ravishing Rick I'm that slick! That's why all these n***a's on my dick! ( ? ) reach and respond to them But I'm like nope! You just mad because you broke You won't be satisfied 'til I get you in the yoke And I keep squeezing, 'til you slipping in a stroke Then I'm Dipping in a boat and every bar I wrote Sent chills through ya veins like I'm dipping in the coke I ride the track harder than Pippen when you broke I lean on the beat like a fiend on dope The boy been hot before Hammer went broke Tyson was bittin' and Rakim had the rope I'm chilling while you act hard Sipping on lemonade that the maid made from the tree in the backyard! I got my own sneaker, dick! I don't wear those! The entrepren-n***a' won't put on their clothes The industry's filled with a bunch of f**in' weirdo's Actin like they don't want diamonds in their earlobe So what hood you grew up in? Cause comin' where I'm from, motherf**as want something! My eyes all poky and red, cause me and Buck like Smoky and Craig You learn something if you open up ya head I don't party unless they pay me You want me to perform that's an extra 80 You almost on your last meal So I got three words for you, Straight Outta Ca$hville!