Lyrics Lloyd Banks – Work Out Part 3

Jealousy’s startin to show like the ribs in Somalia.
Cover ya tracks or the pigs will sawllow ya
And m, ake it easier being a part of ya. {Whoooooooooooooooooo Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid!}
I’m a survivor! — Even with the .9!
2 gun cocks
The baseball bat, switchblade or screwdiver.
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 niggas hate so we hit the show with toasters.
gunshot
{DAMN}
Project bitches! — Those is holsters
We ain’t off point cause hoes approach us.
Slip up and I’m a steamroast you roaches.
I roll with the vultures they eager to pop ya.
gunshot
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! {DAMN}
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. {Whooooooooooooooo Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid!}

Nigga rather see a thug dead — cause I love bread!
The Uzi’ll have you flyin like Spud Webb.
I’m something like the rap-ravishing Rick,
I’m that slick! — That’s why all these niggas on my dick! {HAHA!}
? reach and response 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. {DAMN!}
Then I’m Dipping in a boat — and every bar I wrote
Sent chills through ya veins like I’m dipping in the coke.
blast
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, (uh-huh!)
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! {Whooooooooo!}
I got my own sneaker, dick! — I don’t wear those!
The entrepre-nigga — won’t put on their clothes. {HAHA!}
The industry’s filled with a bunch of weird-o’s
Actin like they don’t want diamonds in their earlobe. {SHADYVILLE!}
So what hood you grew up in?
Cause comin’ where I’m frooom. — 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. {Whooooooo!}
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»!
blast

beat stops