cashing in - lloyd banks lyrics
[gunshot]
[intro: {dj whoo kid}]
whoooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhh!
i’m back! {mo money!}
gang green! {part 3!}
yeah! {“ca$hing in”!} yeah!
[verse 1:]
yo’ boy’s sick! – so move or the germ might touch ya
i’m at the rucker! – burning them trees up like usher.
(whoo!)
when i teach you how to rap fam’ – i’m in that black
van (uh!)
like air ones and canaries the size of pacman. {none
stop}
who gives a f-ckk if it’s our brawl (uh!)
’cause my dog got the windows from the 24 hours store.
(sh-t!)
i’m on the verge of flippin’
lord send me a sign! -‘fore i empty this .9 and leave
the board drippin’! [gunshot]
me and 50 are like michael and pippin
ryu and ken! (uh!) – whoever you send – i’m a rip ’em!
(g’eah!)
i’m added to {d-mn!} society! – mainly with’ my system.
run and put em’ in the truck – like a kidnapping
victim. (uh-huh!)
i’m papa so they pushin’ me harder!
my -ssociates got interior motives like – wishin’ his
father. (uh-‘uh!)
i figure! – i rather play with’ these blades before i
p-ss
build a ballcourt! – and go buy bentleys to go to
crash! (3rd!)
i’m headed towards my prime with’ metaphors and lines
(yeah!)
and i compliment my momma with pedacures and wind.
(whattup ma’?)
i’m line from line, the rap einstein!
pound for pound (uh!) i’m tyson (uh!) – a.k.a (uh!)
icyin’. (whoo!) {whooooo!}
message for the record i ain’t sleepin’ for a second.
(uh!)
so even if i make it there’s a tool under the pillow.
{god-… } [gun c-cks]
i’m brought up! {d-mn!} – to the v with’ a poolish from
the window,
i’m a smoker! – so the brokas won’t leave us with the
indo. (oooooooooooohhh!) [gunshot] {whoooo!}
i’m always with’ a pair! – ‘fore the crew looks for the
bimbo,
a dead meats in your daughter, i’ll f-ck her and won’t
support her. (uh-huh!)
i’m matching on the pedal
smile from ear to ear; middle finger in the air –
before i catch her eye! (f-ck you n-gg-!)
keep rydin’ behind your tens f-ck! (f-ck!)
n-gg-s don’t know; no better. – they’ll rob you for the
rhinestones and your pimp cup.
they goin’ off if we say:
“n-gg-z is runnin’ off from my buzz. – faster than
jamaicans in the relay.”
i’m blowin’ the kush! – driving lazy in the lane
yelling money ain’t a fame, (uh!) like jay-z (uh!) and
jermaine. (uh!) {haha!}
about 80 (uh!) on the chain (uh!) like brady (uh!)
with’ the aim (uh!)
i’m the same! – whether the mercedes or the train.
(ooh! ooh!)
and i may be on a plane – by the end of the night. but
it’s aight throw;
i might throw! – i’m rich off a mic hoe! (uh-huh!)
{whooooo! }
my stamina’s low – x-rated is my type so
i keep the crib packed in, no telling where it might
go.
living room! dining room! (uh!) bedroom! (uh!)
bathroom! (uh!)
upstairs! (uh!) nuts smared, all over your sasoon.
(ooooooooooooooooooohhhhhh!) {none stop!}
ya on that fly sh-t! – that southside sh-t!
thet i’m a sell on these 10 million before i die sh-t.
(southsiiide!) [shot]
i’m from the block; where the heafers be. (uh!)
to doing shows out in pinkston when they rocking where
your peppers see. (ha!)
and being gangsta ain’t enough – a lil’ n-gg- that’s
stuntin’,
will put a killa in a box like chuck! – ch’eah!
[gunshot] {whoooooooooooo!}
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