Lloyd Banks - Can You Dig It lyrics

Published

0 201 0

Lloyd Banks - Can You Dig It lyrics

[Verse 1: Banks] Look how far I done got, they wanna get like me Realest motherf**er ever, dog, I just might be Couple ladies on my right, and on my left like three Think I'm high as you can go, give me d**h by weed I'd rather settle my success than be depressed by greed I'm doing more than triple on ‘em, nothing less, top speed I'm doing all the sugars on ‘em, I'm the best, buy weed Eight at my table and the rest Dom P Born to be on top, I won't stop until my respect paid New York City love me, I've been rapping for a decade It's spending money season, though – I ball out every check, mate Came a long way from praying to God that my ca**ette play They throwing p**y at me, I catch it with one hand Toss it, hot potato, while I lay low with the fam' Today I'm on the creep, 90K on my sedan Counting down the days they let my ace up out the can [Hook: Banks] Marksman, lay it down, I don't love her Yeah, I've got a thing for victory and money by the color Shorty said she want to have me, she can have the rubber n***a can you dig that? ‘Cause I ain't never dug her I'm a cold motherf**er, I do it for the gutter I can't wait to let her go, and you're the one to cuff her I'm stunting on them chumps, let them n***as suffer I'm a cold motherf**er [Verse 2: French] I be talking to them b**hes like I'm Pepe King b**h back up, money stack up like 8'10 Soccer boy, kick your b**h out with a scissor kick I be stacking green, n***a, on some lizard sh** Wrist rocked up n***a, on some blizzard sh** Tell your b**h protect her neck on some RZA sh** Hopping out that window, that chain out, that MAC out They told me bring my chain out, New York City is blacked out I said it's blacked out, don't make me back out Hundred rounds of clips, smiling Don't make me bring that mask out I've got a Banks truck in my back pocket 9,000 watts on my chain, where's the socket? I've got them 8 balls, n***a, where's the pocket? (What you got?) I've got them 8 balls, n***a, where's the pocket? Suicide doors, think a n***a gone crazy Dirty Sprite poured, think it got me moving lazy [Hook] [Verse 3: Banks] Platinum spaceships still out on my same sh** Karate kid, put a b**h out with the crane kick Purple weed and yellow b**hes make my brain click Royal light blue colours, peep my aura as my chain hits He can add a “0″ or just calm my ego They think I'm cheating with the raps, margarito I'll give up all I've got before I starve my people n***a your skin thin as hell you let the bloggers read you She cool as hell, I drop her off she back to snotty I've got a chick to tap for every tattoo on my body Pick a model, she gon' top me down Backstreet or the lobby Every finger rocky now, athlete when I party Catch me rolling out, Maserati Pockets holding out, endo probably Look at how she poke it out, she wanna pop me I sat her down an broke her mouth, sloppy [Hook]

You need to sign in for commenting.
No comments yet.