Lloyd Banks, 50 Cent - The Cake lyrics

(Money, money, money, money, cake)
I need the cake nigga!

The Unit don't play
(uh uh) , we rap but we strapped (yep)
Buck got the shotgun, 50 got the MAC
Spider got the sweeper and you
Dyin' to hear it clap (uh huh)
You won't have another birthday
(cake) after that (WOO)
'Cause Yayo got a temper and he
Don't know how to act (fuck)
And I been gone all Winter
But now a nigga back to get the

(Money) uh the (money) uh the (money)
Uh the (money) uh the (cake)

And you motherfuckers lookin' like steak
(WOO)
Food on the plate for the wolves follow rules
Don't get moved by the tools
Blood'll ooze on your shoes
Wait (uh huh) , control your hate you ain't ridin' in them sixes (why?)
'Cause you spendin' all your
(cake) on them bitches (uh)
I need the bread lil' niggas need Christmas
(uh huh) banks don't rap with a backpack
I'm in it for the

(Money) uh the (money) uh the (money)
Uh the (money) uh the (cake)

Ha Ha! You heard Banks say it so
You know I got the MAC
I pull or pull out spray hollows at your back
I don't give a fuck, it's goin down like that
I done been through every hood
Dead niggas don't rat
In the heart of a victim
Murder is monumental
I don't complicate shit kid, I keep it simple
My bullet wounds will tell you a
Story 'bout what I been through
Southside trauma, drama with the llamas
I conversate with killers
It's usually about life
Politic with bonders It's usually about white
I'm the poster child for violence
I'm the boy on the poster
When them shots start to ring out
I'm the boy with the toaster
Yeah listen up kicko, I hustle, I get dough
You fuckin' with a sicko
I spaz let a clip go
Cannon out the rental, beam to 'yo temple
I squeeze blow your mental
All over your friends (WOO)

Me I'm from the street
(street) where ain't nothin' sweet (sweet)
The home for the homi's there's
A body every week (week)
Now I don't hear the sirens but
They probably on the creep (creep)
Plottin' to pull me over plant the
(cake) in my Jeep (WOO)
So I be skippin' cities seven
States in a week (yeah)
Can't a motherfucker breathe and tell
Me I can't eat show me the

(Money) uh the (money) uh the (money)
Uh the (money) uh the (cake)

Nigga slow down, pump ya brakes (yeah)
No mistakes 'cause the Jakes run the plates
Then your headed upstate for rollin
'round with a steak (uh huh)
Niggas start up the beef and
Run straight to the cops (uh huh)
You a bitch ass nigga, the cup
(cake) of the block (WOO)
Any nigga disrespect the clique gettin' shot
'Round here niggas get found
Upside down over the

(Money) the (money) the (money)
The (money) the (cake)