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    [Lloyd Banks]
    Man what the fuck are you lookin for?
    Can't a young nigga make money any more
    Blow a couple grand in the NBA Store
    Rock twenty-four thousand on the NBA floor
    Niggaz be on stage bendin over on tour
    Leave anti-social with a case of lochjaw
    Just cause shorty look good, don't mean that you should go
    puttin ice on the bitch like she won the Superbowl
    Even the chips are low, for all these so-called old heads
    Just ain't the same niggaz I used to know
    I got a Houston ho - nah she ain't the sharpest knife
    in the drawer but she a damn good booster though
    See I could fuck a supermodel with my {?} works
    Send her home with a smile and a couple kids on her shirt
    I got a year into the game
    A 141 rocks layin on my chain, geah!

    [Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
    Just another day, chillin in the hood
    Just another day around the way
    I'm tipsy off the Hennessy
    We ridin round with the H-K, nigga we don't play
    Just another day, chillin in the hood
    Just another day around the way
    We smoke a quarter pound a day
    G-Unit we here to stay, nigga we don't play

    [Lloyd Banks]
    Nevermind the lames in my era, they all want me dead
    And I know, it's all over the way I see bread
    Here I go, caught up in some he say/she said
    'Til I go, put a slug in my enemy's head
    The Tahoe's, bulletproof so you can't get through
    Then follow, your ass and whoever ran with you
    And you about as assed-out as two jammed pistols
    Bleedin around a bunch of niggaz who can't fix you
    So bring yours, cause you know I got mine with me kid
    The 8'll make you lose weight like Missy did
    The O.G.'s tryin to hide they phony smilin
    Reputation always arise in Coney Island
    I'm at your local newsstand jerk
    While the only XXL you been in as a shirt
    And, speakin of shirts, get a new white T
    God damn it feels good to be me - nigga!

    [Chorus]

    [Lloyd Banks]
    Now I'm goin, shoppin with a plastic card now
    I'm growin, knockin international broads down
    They know him, they're not gonna even pat the star down
    I'm holdin, a glock so don't even act that hard now
    You might bust your gun but your gat's in the car clown
    So break your lil' weed up and crack your cigars down
    Cause I ain't tryin to start my visits, with the fuckin judge
    givin niggaz life like it's parkin tickets
    Now I get to go to bed with a model
    And the crib is bout as big as it is on the Belvedere bottle
    I got all kind of ex' I could ram in they faces
    Red and blue pills like the man in The Matrix
    You might have spent some paper on your lil' charm but
    My piece is bout as heavy as Lil' Jon cup
    But, it's never tucked, nigga I don't give a fuck
    I'll get bucked 'fore I give somethin up, yup!

    [Chorus]

    [ad libs]

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