Banks Victory Lyrics

(feat. Lloyd Banks)
[50 Cent]
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 holes and more cheddar
G-Unit move around wit them pounds and berreta's
Yea 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 outta yaself tryin to stop me
I'm cocky, raps rocky, nigga you sloppy
You know that I'm, 8 levels above you nigga
I'll club you nigga, I never heard of you nigga, its ugly nigga
I'm the wrong one to provoke
You rattin on niggas is only gon' leave you smoked
So the only thing left now is toast for these cowards
I got no friends, f*ck most of these cowards
They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards
While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers

[Lloyd Banks]
I got a intergangstress who argue and steams wit reefer
And who flip when I call a bitch like she Queen Latifah
Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the streetsweeper
This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker
We slidin through the ruckus, wit prada on the chuckus
Soon as spring break ho's home from college wanna f*ck us
I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas
I'll sick rottweiler's on you f*ckas, cops followin to cuff us
Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros
When it comes to paper I blow a soul outta aero
I'ma break before I lay in the floor buried
Besides, every rapper ain't a star, nigga plad ain't
You can't tame Lloyd, smokin by the big screen
You changin the channel looks like I'm playin the game boy
I know the watch botherin ya vision
But reach and I'll put a dot on ya head like its part of yo religion
Why party wit a pigeon?
I'm blowin a 10, cuz Bush handin flyers for a party in a prison
I'm in the gucci vest wit the green and red straps
I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack
Now every morning's a fast start
And there aint problem gettin dressed cuz my closet got more aisles than pathmark
Run, when we startin to spray
or leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs
I'm the young pimp pardon my age
I don't got long hair but if I did she be puttin my braids
Niggas find what club they at
take 'em wit us, and run a train on 'em like a subway mat
your advance is a grey Acura
see these record labels got most artists gettin f*cked like the gay rappa'
ill go to college on a tour
I'm goin down in history nigga, next to Wallace and Shakur
I keep my ammo clean, tec's polished in the drawer
Camera's by the hamper that mine into the floor
by now, you probably heard of me
fresh outta surgery, flashy as a f*ck, you gon' have to murder me
Burglary, I'm leavin wit cha nike's burgundy, White T, burgundy
you match now, back down
niggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear
catch me on a boat wit weed smoke and fishin' gear
heavy when I toke, C notes from different years
Besly in the robe, re-motes for liftin chairs
You ain't rich, but well be glad to snatch ya
I send cars to crib like I'm a cab dispatcha
you better off wit ya stupid guys, lookin for a coupe to drive
you ain't gettin nuttin but ya french fries supersized
it's a damn shame y'all still local
I'm in a million dollar studio layin my vocals

[50 Cent]
Still in the projects nigga, you ain't goin nowhere
you gon' f*ckin be there for the rest of yo muthaf*ckin life
and yo momma said, I'm supposed to tell you somethin.....
to encourage you, somethin positive
aight well I ain't gon' lie to you muthaf*cka, he ain't goin nowhere
get yaself a beer, get on the f*ckin curve
f*ckin dirtbag

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