Lloyd Banks - Gettin Money lyrics

I'm tired of n***as thinkin' they Sylvester - but now you prob'ly thinkin' wich one sh**, Rambo, Rocky pick one! (Oooh!) I'm in the seven star telly And the roomkey come with a butler if you bring it, you gone F*CKER. (boo!) I'm a player! - I use my rules the two-thousand-and-five Two live crews in the Moulin Rouge. (yeah!) When I party - I'm tend to get a few long screws So I'm in the V.I.P with the two long ruegs. (uh-huh!) You stupid to go against us, cause you gon' loose We got bullets! - The size of newborn shoes. (whooo!) And I'm connected around the board, so the SouthSide cheap Out in Ca$hville nothing 'bout steel and gold-teeth. (whattup?) You ain't got to know Hip-Hop to know 'bout this (uh-uh!) Entrepono n***a with the poke-out wrist! (yeah!) Give me the dice! - I f*ck around and throw bout six And be the reason you roll out piss! - I'm buyin Cris' with this. (yeeeeeeeah!) I'm from the slum, so this is pitched To the lil' n***as, that never got a christmas gift Give me a minute - to hear me out So clear my name from the bullsh** (uh-huh!) - cause gettin' money what I'm really 'bout! And chinchilla when it's chilly out (uh!) Rollin' up a phillie blunt, pay attention to how I really stunt. (whooo!) Ether you gangsta or really drunk F*ck what ya heard! - My clique run the city chump! Allow me to display exelence; Pappa caught a nut, mamma had a son and I've been this way ever since. (whooo!) You know - head full of neglelance 'Till a "high-dawg" in the bing over b**h-made evidence My whole hood on the chase for dead presidensts Cause ain't nothing out here. - che'-che' check out my residence! Man I'm the best! - Nothing more nothing less But I will be the greatest when I "back-off" my haters! (g'eah!) My neighborhoods good but I don't wave to my neighbors They wouldn't see it anyway. - They 'bout a block away, HEY! My flow is rawer than "Columbian Yay" I'm like the MJ in his day; hungry to play And the 11-7 Suburban there come with a 'K It's onroad offroad put your Hummers away, okay? Come swingin' you'll be bleeding from the gun Cause I ain't tryna wrestle not even with my thumb. (OOOHH!) I went to hot Cancoon from freezin' in the slum Half done! (uh-huh!) Of Bacardi Breezers with the rum. (WHOOO!) I ain't never been a cuddeler she's leavin when I come Like D-Bo with his right: "Spend the evening with your son! " You ain't leaving with a crumb. - b**h I'm from the hood, ya heard? Violate I wish you would you bird! Y'all don't want it with the boywonder! That'll only get you in a rumble - crawlin' on the floor like a fumble. - n***a!