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    Your boy sick
    So move or the germ might touch ya
    I'm at the rucker, burning them trees up like Usher
    When I teach you how to rap fam
    I'm in that black van
    Like Air Ones and Canaries the size of Pacman
    Who gives a fuck if it's our brawl
    Cuz my dog got the windows from the 24-Hour slawg
    I'm on the verge of flippin
    Lord send me a sign, before I empty this nine, and leave the board drippin
    Me and 50 are like Michael and Pippin
    Ryu and Ken, whoever you send, I'ma rip em'
    I'm added to society, mainly wit my system
    Run and put em' in the truck, like a kidnapping victim
    I'm papa so they pushin me harder
    My associates got interior motives like wishin his father
    I figure, I rather play wit these blades before i pass
    Build a ballcourt, and go buy Bentleys to go to crash
    I'm headed towards my prime
    Wit metaphors and mines
    And I compliment my momma wit pedacures and wind
    I'm nine for nine, the rap Einstein
    Pound for pound
    I'm Tyson a.k.a Icyin
    Message for the record
    I ain't sleepin for a second
    So even if i make it theres tool under the pillow
    I'm brought up, to the V wit a poolish from the window
    I'ma smoker, so the brokas won't leave us wit the Indo
    I'm always wit a pair, before the crew looks for the bimbo
    A dead meats in ur daughter
    I'll fuck her and won't support her
    I'm matching on the pedal
    Smile from ear to ear
    Middle finger in the air
    Before I catch her eye
    Keep rydin behind your tens fuck
    Niggas don't know no Denim
    They'll rob you for the rhinestones and your pimp cup
    They goin off of we say
    Niggas is runnin off from my buzz, fatser than Jamaicans in the relay
    I'm blowin the cush, driving lazy in the lane
    Yelling money ain't a thang
    Like Jay-Z and Jermaine
    About 80 on the chain
    Like Brady wit the aim
    I'm the same
    Whether the Mercedes or the train
    And I may be on a plane
    By the end of the night
    But it's aight
    Tho, I might throw
    I'm rich off a Mic Hoe
    My stamina's low
    X-Rated is my type so
    I keep the crib packed in, no telling where it might go
    Living room, dining room, bedroom, bathroom
    Upstairs, nuts smared all over your Sasoon
    Ya on that fly shit
    That Southside shit
    Thet I'ma sit on these ten million before i die shit
    I'm from the block where the heafers be
    To doing shows out in Pinkston when they rocking where your peppers see
    And being gangsta ain't enough
    A lil' nigga that's stuntin will put a killa in a box like Chuck

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    Todas as letras de Lloyd Banks

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