70 Bars
(专辑: Mo Money In The Bank 4: Gang Green Season - 2006)
The
name's Banks; the
Boy-Wonder Man Stack in a
rubberband; gat in the
other hand These little niggas don't move me; go watch a
movie I'm too smooth; white Prada shoes with the
Dooey I
spin your fucking neck when I
speed the
through; the
ceiling is see-through Oh, you top-billin'? Well, me too You might as well give your money to me, shorty Can't dance in the
strip club when you're forty Come here; I'll show you how to get, it if you with it If you let me, I
can teach you how to take it to the
top A
bottle of Cris later, you'll be naked in the
spot Gassed up from the
conversation in the
drop It won't be gifts or vacations to the
trops Just hard-dick bubble gum, and steak up in the
pot I
got a
brand new semi out the
box Just in case a
nigga think he smooth enough to sneak in Leave you one eye shorter from the
slaughter And I'll be on the
yacht 'round water out in Florida Fuck the
talking, what's up? Your hammers in the
truck, you butt, so chill Or I'mma have to fuck, you up, for real Cristal bottle in your grill; ew It'll be a
ground full of glass, teeth, and blood spill They all know I'm a
threat hopping out the
Lex I
got a
bitch for every letter in the
alphabet Like Aron and Brandy, Carrie and Donna Erica and Felicia, I
nicknamed her "Gabbana" Light-skinned Heather, I
met her around the
way And there's a
few names that I
ain't supposed to say So I'mma skip to J, cause Jasmine and Jennifer Jaw-boning Jessica runs when I
message her They all know when it come to the
hoes I
get 'em down to they underclothes, in them bungalows Nah, I
don't need an umbrella, the
car come with those To get in one of those, you need a
hundred shows I'm all summer-froze, so the
gun exposed I'll gun butt ya fucker, here's a
bloody nose Yeah, that was yo' bitch, but the
dummy chose Yeah, I'm grimy as fuck, you got to love it, though Shorty caught feelings after I
stroked her, so what? Take a
picture, write a
book, call Oprah; blow up You'll find a
ice-pick in a
flow In a
Coke-colored coupe, white whip in the
snow Me and the
bread banding like a
pimp and a
ho Like a
smoker on the
pipe, like the
coca on the
flight I
don't continue nothing, I'mma stroke her on the
night On the
sofa or the
floor, whore choking off the
mic Like, "Banks, I
don't usually do"; well they usually do And they all learn to like it, you'll get used to it, too Niggas staring at my chain, cause it used to be blue Man, I
ain't changed like you; deuce-deuce in the
shoe I'm on Kush, cranberry juice, Goose, and I'm through Then it's back to the
mansion to do what I
do I'm back nigga; this is part two: The
Hunger For More Money I'm right at your door, dummy Kush pop, bottoms up; nigga I'm by the
buck Don't look at the
Ferrari, you can't even buy the
truck That boy fresh out the
hood, and he hot as fuck On the
hunt for the
cheese, keep your Ricotta tucked They on that body shit, right in the
lobby shit Run up in my yard, I'm running out with the
shotty shit Family members identifying the
body shit Cause it been so long, that John Gotti shit I'm in the
two-zero-zero Maserati whip Concrete-colored McLaren; it's a
hobby, shit!