VictoryLloyd Banks

[Intro: The Notorious B.I.G. sample + (DJ Whoo Kid)]
{*gunshot*}
{*gunshot*}
One, one, two
(Non-stop)
Yo, check me out right here yo

[Verse 1: 50 Cent]
Yo, yo we can't stay alive forever
So if shit hit the fan then we might as well die together
I'm high as ever, more holes and more cheddar
G-Unit move around with them pounds and Berettas
Yea faggot, 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 ass outta yaself tryin' to stop me
I'm cocky, raps rocky, nigga you sloppy
You know that I'm, 8 levels above you, nigga
I'll club you nigga, I never heard of you, nigga, ugly nigga
I'm the wrong one to provoke
You rattin' on niggas is only gon' leave you smoke
So the only thing left now is tools for these cowards
I got no friends, fuck most of these cowards
They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards
While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers

[Verse 2: Lloyd Banks]
I got a industry gangstress, that argues, and steams the reefer
And flip when I call her bitch, like she Queen Latifah
Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the street sweeper
This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker
We slidin through the ruckus, with Prada on the chuckus
So the spring break hoes home from college wanna fuck us
I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas
I sic Rottweilers on you fuckas, cops followin' to cuff us
Top dollars to discuss this, whole lot of zeros
When it comes to paper, I blow a soul out a hero
I'ma break before I lay floor buried
Besides, every rapper ain't a star, and every plad ain't Burberry
You can't tame Lloyd, smokin' by the big screen
Changin' the channel, looks like I'm playin' the Game Boy
I know the watch botherin' ya vision
But reach, and I'll put a dot on ya head like it's part of your religion
Why party with a pigeon?
I'm blowin' a 10 cause Bush handin' flyers for a party in a prison
I'm in the Gucci vest, with the green and red straps
I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack
Now every morning's a fast start
And there ain't problem gettin' dressed 'cause my closet got more aisles than Pathmark
Run, move startin' a wave
Or leave with 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 partin' my braids
Niggas find what club they at
Take 'em with us, and run a train on 'em like a subway map
Your advance is grey Acura
See these record labels got most artists gettin' fucked like the gay rapper
I go to college on the tour
I'm goin' down in history nigga, 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 fuck, you gon' have to murder me
Burglary, I'm leavin' with your Nikes burgundy, white tee: burgundy
You match now, back down
Niggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear
Catch me on the boat with weed smoke and fishin' gear
Heavy when I toke, C-notes from different years
Bezzy and the rope, remotes and liftin chairs
You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya
I send cars to your crib like I'm a cab dispatcher
You better off with the 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, nigga

[Outro: 50 Cent]
Still in the projects nigga, you ain't goin' nowhere
You gon' fuckin' be there for the rest of your muthafuckin' life
And your momma sayin': I'm supposed to tell you somethin'
To encourage you, somethin' positive, aight:
Well, I ain't gon' lie to you muthafucka, he ain't goin' nowhere
Get yourself a beer, and get on the fuckin' curb {*gunshot*}
You fuckin' dirt bag {*gunshot*}