50 Cent, Lloyd Banks - Banks Victory lyrics

Gunshot gunshot
(One, One, two)

(Yo, check me out right here yo)

Yo, yo, we can't stay alive forever
So if shit hit the fan
Then we might as well die together
I'm high as ever, more hoes and more cheddar
G-Unit move around with them
Pounds and Berettas
Yeah faggot, if I want it, I'm gon' have it
Regardless if it's handed to me
Or I gotta grab it don't make a ass out of
Yourself trying to stop me
I'm cocky, rap's Rocky, nigga you sloppy
You know that I'm
Eight levels above you nigga
I'll club you nigga
I never heard of you nigga
Ugly nigga, I'm the wrong one to provoke
You ratting on niggas is only
Going to leave you smoked
So the only thing left now
Is toasts for these cowards
I got no friends fuck most of these cowards
They pop shit 'till we
Start approaching these cowards
While we lay around dollars
They lay around flowers

I got a industry gangstress, that argues
And steams the reefer
And flip when I call her bitch
Like she Queen Latifah
Now all the vehicles is long enough
To stash the street sweeper
This shit can get uglier than
The Master P sneaker
I'm sliding through the Rucker
With Prada on the chuckers
So the spring break hoes home
From college wanna fuck us
I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckers
I sic Rottweilers on you fuckers
Cops following to cuff us
Top dollars to discuss this
Whole lot of zeros when it comes to paper
I blow the soul out a hero
I'ma break before I lay in the floor buried
Besides every rapper ain't a star
And every plaid ain't Burberry
You can't tame Lloyd
We're smoking by the big screen
Changing the channel
Looks like I'm playing the Game Boy
I know the watch bothering your vision
But reach, and I put a dot on your head
Like it's part of your religion
Why party with a pigeon? I'm blowing a ten
Because Bush handing out flyers
For a party in the prison
I'm in the Gucci vest
With the green and red straps
I'm the last rapper to scare
Niggas since Craig Mack
Now every morning's a fast start
But it ain't a problem getting dressed
'Cause my closet got more
Aisles than Pathmark
Run when we starting a raid
Or leave with twelve shells in your mouth
Like a carton of eggs
I'm a young pimp, pardon my age
I don't got long hair
But if I did she'd be parting my braids
Niggas find out what club they at
Take them with us
And run a trains on 'em, like a subway map
Your advance is a grey Acura
See these record labels
Got most artists getting fucked
Like the gay rapper
I go to college on the tour
I'm going down in history nigga
Next to Wallace and Shakur
Keep your ammo clean
TECs polished in the drawer
Camera's by the hampers that
Monitor the floor
By now, you probably heard of me
Fresh out of surgery flashy as a fuck
You going to have to murder me
Burglary, I'm leaving with
Your Nikes burgundy
White tee burgundy, you match now, back down
Niggas love to hate you
But love you when you disappear
Catch me on a boat
With weed smoke and fishing gear
Heavy when I tote
C notes from different years
Bezzy and the rope
Remotes and lifting chairs
You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya
I send cars to your crib
Like I'm a cab dispatcher
You better off with the stupid guys
Looking for a coupe to drive
You ain't getting nutting
But you french fries supersized
It's a damn shame y'all still local
I'm in a million dollar
Studio laying my vocals, nigga

You still in the projects nigga
You ain't going nowhere
You going to be there for the
Rest of your motherfucking life
And your mama saying: I'm supposed
To tell you something, to encourage you
Something positive, alright:
Well, I ain't going to
Lie to you motherfucker
You ain't going nowhere get yourself a beer
And get on the fucking curb gunshot
Fucking dirtbag gunshot