“Banks Workout Pt. 2”
(feat. Lloyd Banks)
50 Cent. Lloyd Banks!
Nobody get hurt if nobody don’t move
Just give it up smooth (G-Unit!)
Motherfucker you move I’ll flash my tool
And blast my tool (G-Unit!)
Nigga you don’t know me, and I don’t know you
You think you know my crew (G-Unit!)
[Lloyd Banks:]
I been a problem since the old days, pimps and gold caps
Now I’m in O.J. Simpson throwbacks
Y’all was wondering where my ass been
Probably vacationing on South Beach getting head like an aspirin
If you gassed, I can let the tec pound your ego
Or lock you in a closet with the West Nile mosquito
The press crowd in people, especially celebrities
I’m heavily shittin’ on any Tom Dick or Gregory
Nigga you better be strapping; they want you dead if you rapping
I’m trying to cave your head and your back in
I’m getting bread and relaxing, and attracting a fan base
Of females with e-mails and letters to fax in
In Vegas with a toaster and a blunt
And the hotel I’m checked in, got a roller-coaster in the front
I’mma post ’em when I stunt, the Sammy Sosa of the month
Better yet the whole season, nigga I’m still breathing
Even though my dollars are green
I rap for the kids that’s too poor to waste eggs on Halloween
I’m getting swallowed clean, my habits are good
Collecting all the karats I could
Sliding from a stash spot to conceal the torture
And a good silencer to make it sound like the Wheel of Fortune
All this careless talking, cause I’m traveling and flossing
Having a good time, and you having a abortion
You sucker for love, getting married and divorced then
Can’t even afford the batteries for your Walkman
I’m out the hood, burning Cali weed on Slausson
Where set tripping turn to tragedies and coffins
Look, I mean what I’m saying, you scheming I’m spraying
Your team end up laying, on the sofa screaming and praying
Saying, G-Unit niggas be rolling crazy, holding 80s
Older ladies staring cause they staring in that gold Mercedes
Since 50 hooked up with Shady, now they trying to book up and pay me
If you think I’m shook up you crazy, baby
The boy strapped two ninas
Smoking out a bag big enough to fit on vacuum cleaners
I wore a glove when I blazed you fatty, I ain’t your baby daddy
She flipping, now he trying to grab me out the navy Caddy
I ain’t your ave-y, papa was a rolling stone
Stocking up to own a home, pocket full of loaded chrome
Drop and get a hold of dome, I know your motive homes
You mad, cause I’m fuckin’ half your Motorola phone
I’m swift with the women I’m good with my words
A lot of, niggas is hating on what I deserve I’m hotter
Front if you want, end up on the curb in your Prada
And your mans running, ambulance coming
Another day another dollar, on the low from the Impala
I can have a six still in my shower, motherfucker!
Nobody get hurt if nobody don’t move
Just give it up smooth (G-Unit!)
Motherfucker you move I’ll flash my tool
And blast my tool (G-Unit!)
Nigga you don’t know me, and I don’t know you
You think you know my crew (G-Unit!)
I send a nigga that you thought you knew
To come through and put a hole in you (G-Unit!)
[50 Cent:]
Lloyd Banks, ha ha!
50 Cent! I ain’t even gotta work hard
Look at these niggas, ha ha ha
The fuck you gon’ do now nigga!
You done had the same niggas in the background for a long time
Think they gangster, but going back and forth to jail
Well jumping the turnstile don’t count nigga
Ha ha ha ha!
About 50 Cent Lyrics
Artist: 50 Cent
Related Songs: If Dead Men Could Talk Lyrics
Album: God’s Plan
Release date: November 1, 2002
Genres: Hip hop music, Hip hop, Gangsta rap, East Coast hip hop, Hardcore hip hop