Ras Kass - Playboy lyrics

Guess who's the man this winter
Straight out the land of sinners
The Range is tan with spinners
Check out the white mirrors
Blow with the damn winners while
You and your man's finished
Two in your Rams fitteds
Turn off your lightswitch
Holdin my torch down
Even when the force 'round
You let your wife roam
She want a divorce now
You niggas ain't this gully
Play it I paint your skully
You never take this from me the riders
And all the gangsters love me
You shouldn't be a problem
I ain't be a problem
See you later I'll red your head
You'll be a Rodman i know your type
Hoppin all over beat screamin
You call it hypin yourself up
I call it street dreamin
I do it for all the haters
The players roll with the gators
They lookin forward to favors
Gossip is all they gave us
You niggas wasn't quiet
Meet the whales and the fishes
You leak the precinct up
Play tattletale with the snitches
Even my momma knows, I got all kind of hoes
They wait outside of shows strict
After the diner close
I'll get designer clothes
Without the wine or rose
Take off my baby blue mink
And Carolina vogues come here
Take a look inside a entertainer's closet
I never trust a bitch, I blame Lorena Bobbitt
Niggas stay in pocket
I know you're mad at me
But shit ain't all peaches and cream
And I ain't Sara Lee bitch!

Don't ice me, you starin at the wrong one
It's a lot of girls here
Go and get a grown one
We at the bar poppin bottles
'til they all gone
If you ain't leavin here with us
You can walk home cause someone else will
They know how we ride
If you a playboy, you got one on the Eastside
Keep your mouth closed
We don't let the beef ride

(what) right (what) right
(what) right (right, damn)
(Let's go)

I do this for the hood
Niggas stuck in the slammer
I smile cause I'm good
You act tough for the camera
Run from the lil' kids
They fuckin with Santa
Cause they like 2Pac more -
Word? Word to my grandma
I figure I might as well leave
Here with my Glock drawn
Cause they'll take to jail
Even when you're not wrong
Dawg you're not this flashy
Jux you got to blast me
Every rock is classy nobody on
Your block can match me
You shouldn't want a fight
Unless you want to fight
For your life in the
Hospital a hundred nights
I know your type, run behind your girl rushin
You call it quality time
I call it handcuffin
I'm on a beach in Miami
So you ain't reachin my family
All weekend with panties from
Puetro Rican Cammie you niggas wasn't tough
I shoulda snapped two flicks
You wore your pants tight
Played pitty pat with the chicks
Even my father knows, where the revolver goes
I bring the beef to your
Front door like dominoes
And my diamonds froze
That mean my time is froze
Me in the club from when it's
Poppin 'til the time it close
Half of these so-called real
Niggas'll probably sing
Nah I ain't pullin over
Learned that from Rodney King
So tell your homey chill
You know I hold the steel
Everything be jabs and hooks
And you ain't Holyfield nigga!

Everybody on the left get yo' hands up
Everybody on the right get yo' hands up
Everybody up front get yo' hands up
And everybody out back get yo' hands up
And if you in here with a
Strap get yo' hands up now put 'em up!
(Put 'em up) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up)
Now put 'em up!
(Put 'em up) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up)
Now put 'em up!
(Put 'em up) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up)
Man fuck what he said man, put 'em up!
Now put 'em up!
(Put 'em up) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up)
Now put 'em up!
(Put 'em up) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up)
Now put 'em up!
(Put 'em up) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up)
Ohhh-OHH!

Lloyd Banks, what? Oooooooh!