Work Out Part 4

(album: Mo Money In The Bank Part Three: Cashing In - 2005)

Uh! Circle the crib 'cause they follow ya'
Jealousy's starting to show like the ribs in Somalia
Cover ya tracks or the pigs will swallow ya'
And make it easier being a part of ya
I'm a survivor! Even with the .9!
The baseball bat, switchblade or screwdriver
The Llam' got a kick like Rowdy Rowdy Piper
I put ya brain all over ya windshield wiper
Nigga' go practice, the flow is ferocious
Million dollar face and it's all over posters!
We living great so we hit the shows and roasters
Them nigga's hate so we hit the show with toasters
Project bitches! Those is holsters
We ain't off point 'cause hoes approach us
Slip up and I'm a steamroll you roaches
I roll with the vultures they eager to pop ya
I give you a reason to believe in ya doctor!
Fuck a Bentley! I got a key to the chopper
With zoom in vision. It's easy to spot ya!
And yeah, I went "Platinum" off my first LP!
But it's all off one record so I'm gon' do three
There's only so long I'm gon' take the hate
Before I DDT ya ass like Jake the Snake
Nigga' rather see a thug dead, 'cause I love bread!
The Uzi'll have you flying like Spud Webb
I'm something like the rap-ravishing Rick
I'm that slick! That's why all these nigga's on my dick!
[?] reach and respond to them
But I'm like nope! You just mad because you broke
You won't be satisfied 'til I get you in the yoke
And I keep squeezing, 'til you slipping in a stroke
Then I'm dipping in a boat and every bar I wrote
Sent chills through ya veins like I'm dipping in the coke
I ride the track harder than Pippen when you broke
I lean on the beat like a fiend on dope
The boy been hot before Hammer went broke
Tyson was bitting and Rakim had the rope
I'm chilling while you act hard
Sipping on lemonade that the maid made from the tree in the backyard!
I got my own sneaker, dick! I don't wear those!
The entrepren-nigga' won't put on their clothes
The industry's filled with a bunch of fucking weirdo's
Actin like they don't want diamonds in their earlobe
So what hood you grew up in?
'Cause coming where I'm from, motherfuckas want something!
My eyes all poky and red, 'cause me and Buck like Smoky and Craig
You learn something if you open up ya head
I don't party unless they pay me
You want me to perform that's an extra 80
You almost on your last meal
So I got three words for you, Straight Outta Ca$hville!