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Lloyd Banks
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Gilmore's
作詞：Richard Frierson, Christopher Charle Lloyd
Yea, ooh
You niggas know what time it is?
It's time for that gangsta shit
We ain't got shit to live for
You either headed for the pen
Or you're 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 don't care about a muthafucka out there
My heart cold and my wrist rock
And I fuck around and die over Hip Hop
I treat a dollar like a mill, countin' every bill
'Cause if I don't watch mine another muthafucka will
I went double but I still tuck the steel
I'm 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 pain't job on a Coupe De Ville
I ain't never had a pop, poppa never had a son
Nobody to go get, so I ain't 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
'Cause I know, they rather see my black ass bummy
Ain't nuthin' funny just a whole lotta anger
Mind of a leader, drama of a gang banger
If a nigga come on property I ain't gonna call
There'll be a splatter on ya shirt and it ain't pain't ball
We ain't got shit to live for
You either headed for the pen
Or you're on your way to Gilmore
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In the middle of the real war
Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
I make million out, yeah
I don't care about a muthafucka out there
My heart cold and my wrist rock
And I fuck around and die over Hip Hop
I don't follow no rules I'm gettin' in here with the town
And if I don't, we gonn' burn this muthafucka down
I'm comin' through swingin' like they do in H-Town
And I roll down the window and spin ya bitch face around
I'm a stunna, hoggin' up the lane like the Hummer
Till the wheel run dry like the rain in the summer
Even the broke nigga can't afford to go to sleep
Fuck around and get ya head popped all over the street
And I ain't got nuthin' for 'em but the heat
My lil' brother want jewelry and Jordan's on his feet
Now, they recognize if ya slaughterin' the beat
And if it wasn't for rappin', I'd have ya daughter on the street
You know 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, yeah
We ain't got shit to live for
You either headed for the pen
Or you're 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 don't care about a muthafucka out there
My heart cold and my wrist rock
And I fuck around and die over Hip Hop
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