Lloyd Banks — Take ‘Em To War

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Текст Lloyd Banks — Take ‘Em To War

[Verse 1: Lloyd Banks]
Bury me with my enemies, dead and gone they remember me
Wasn’t me in the dirt nigga
Power hold the show power in the P’s
Money bring fleas, and crack put prom queens on knees
Genetics like the jeans on fiends — dirty
I’m seven thirty and I feed off Queens — early
I drive Bentleys and I speed off scenes — pearly
Necklace all over your ex, your wife, your girly
Life flies when it push it to the limit
Fuck just getting by, that’s no way to live it
What the fuck did you take me for?
Try to take something you’ll be laying on the floor
There’s a lot less comrades breathing than before
I lose a nigga every time I leave out on a tour
They don’t even respect war
Bullets squeezing out the four
Heaven’s door got to be better than anything we’ve seen before

[Hook: Lloyd Banks]
Fuck talking, let’s take ’em to war
Drama after drama, stay laying on the floor
What the fuck do you take me for?
Eye for an eye, time to even out the score
I’d rather be not here, than hungry
I’m sick when I’m not near my money
They want me to lose but I’ma win
I made it there before and I’mma make it there again
[Verse 2: Lloyd Banks]
Bullshit kept to a minimum
Come at me on subliminal, I’ma retaliate straight
You need a M-F miracle
A Saddam bomb lyrical, something chemical
Hungry enough to scrape plates
A sure shotter, and rule sour
The mall’s ours, the whores crowd us for twenty four hours
Ignore cowards, stunting one of my super powers
Stupid dollars, swagger and the coupe is stylin
Used to violence, old beef new medallions
You’ve been drowning, I’m flying en route to island
G-Unit soldier in the front line of the new battalion
The car is German, the paint’s black, the shoes Italian
I don’t cuddle or kiss French, shorty you whyling
No need for a stylist, I’m already styling
Profilin’ jealousy and crowd pilin’
Keep the neighborhood on edge, ain’t nobody smiling for

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Tony Yayo]
Rainman, Hoffman
211 Range, bad bitch coughing
Good weed expel out my lungs
Re-up on a rizzy ‘fore I’m done
Cocaine pitching, Sandy Koufax
Being broke at thirty give you the chills, Biggie wrote that
Robin Leech tour, condo on the boardwalk
211 X Jaguar, make the girls talk
Hermes stitch, five thousand on the blazer
Disrespect the head turn a nigga chaser
The difference between me and you is you Mel Gibson with your bitch, and I’m a pimp
My Fonzarelli flow make the hoes drool
Candy paint dripping off the old school
So don’t merge in my lane
El Chapo of the game
I built a tunnel for the cane
[Hook]