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    Yea, Whoooooooooooooooooo
    You niggas know what time it is
    Its time for that gangsta shit

    We aint got shit to live for
    Your either headed for the pen or your on your way to Gilmore
    In the middle of the real war
    Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
    I make million out yeah
    I dont care about a muthaphuka out there
    My heart cold and my wrist rock
    You could fuck around and die over Hip Hop

    I treat a dollar like a mill, countin every bill
    Cuz if i dont watch mine another muthaphuka will
    I went double but i still tuck the steel
    Im the truth, why the fuck you think 50 cut the deal
    Rollin in a bag of D when you cut the seal
    When i bling the paint job on a Coupe De Ville
    I aint never had a pop. poppa never had a son
    Nobody to go get, so i aint never run
    They chat behind my back but they quiet when i come
    They treat a lil nigga like a giant with a gun
    I walk with a swagger like i always had money
    Cuz i know, they rather see my black ass bummy
    Aint nuthin funny just a whole lotta anger
    Mind of a leader, drama of a gangbanger
    If a nigga come on property i aint gonna call
    There'll be a splatter on ya shirt, and it aint paintball

    We aint got shit to live for
    Your either headed for the pen or your on your way to Gilmore
    In the middle of the real war
    Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
    I make million out yeah
    I dont care about a muthaphuka out there
    My heart cold and my wrist rock
    You could fuck around and die over Hip Hop

    I dont follow no rules im gettin in here with the town
    And if i dont, we gonn' burn this muthaphuka down
    Im comin thru swingin like they do in H-Town
    And i roll down the window and spin ya bitch face around
    Im a stunna, hoggin up the lane like the Hummer
    Till the wheel run dry like the rain in the summer
    Even the broke nigga cant afford to go to sleep
    Fuck around and get ya head popped all over the street
    And i aint got nuthin for em but the heat
    My lil brother want jewelry and Jordans on his feet
    Now, they recognize if ya slaughterin the beat
    And if it wasnt for rappin, I'd have ya daughter on the street
    I been the same since Kane and Slick Rick had it
    Now niggas die in the car, my whole whip had it
    I worked too hard to let a nigga have it
    So i pack the Automatic for the sideline static, Yea!

    We aint got shit to live for
    Your either headed for the pen or your on your way to Gilmore
    In the middle of the real war
    Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
    I make million out yeah
    I dont care about a muthaphuka out there
    My heart cold and my wrist rock
    You could fuck around and die over Hip Hop

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    Todas as letras de Lloyd Banks

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