Текст Lloyd Banks – Ice Box (Pt. 2)
Текст:
Uhh! This for the hood
It’s all good, uhh
South Jamaica hungry my nigga, come be the lunch
I be on P’s & Q’s, purple and blues, breathin blunts
There’s a few chosen, we were brought up to the bunch
You been in it a couple years I spent a decade paid
I shine all year, your neck on shade — motherfucker I’m
Gettin to it double time, young fly bastard acid #9
Keep ’em close, homies be the one that slime
I’m outta here, on my way to the moon
Blendin in with the stars, put your cameras on zoom
Who the man that’s caught a slug, he’ll be an animal soon
His daddy on base, his momma got her hand on the spoon
They ain’t fuckin with the school, seein the dealers looked cool
Little do they know in ten years, they’d be in jail or entombed
The youth follow it through, he bangin red or bang blue
You give a fuck about them, they give a fuck about you
Chorus
I got my ears to the street, one eye open when I sleep
How I feel the heat in case a nigga try to creep
Got a broad so sweet when she set a nigga up
Knock your sole off your feet, money never get enough
No trust, we don’t trust a damn thing
Ice water runnin through my vein, I’m so cold
Watch me while I do my damn thing
Got a neck full of gold and I’m in the get-the-dough mode
Uhh, there’s always too much drama goin on to be calm
Get out the way or be harmed! Cause neighbor a Vietnam
I got it down, haters prayin to see it gone
Takes me out the bullshit, run your lip and get beat upon
I’m full speed in Adema
?
and you want my freedom gone
Ridin where the riders died, young black and qualified
Fame gets them to suck you, makin it makes ’em swallow right
I’m the survival type, cool as the champion on title night
and VVS bait makin the models bite
Bright as the morning all time of night
Red and green striped Impala white, bricks to Bahama light
Hummer every time I write, flow 9000 degrees farenheit
Fly as a fuck, flyin to paradise
Grab a camera, film my flick, so you can have it twice
Haters still poppin shit, look…
Chorus
Crook wonders with words, ain’t no tellin why I took ’em
Bet these stupid niggaz can’t read — easier to book ’em
Splattered walls, do ’em like graffiti when I cook ’em
Stink sound Pelle while my BDS is wolfin
Hood favorite, probably had my CD when they took ’em
And I’m so high, which makes it easier to overlook ’em
South Jamaica hoodlum in that big boy, the good one
You shook son, wouldn’t be here if you could come
Maybe I’m misunderstood hon, cause it’s obvious I’m judged
And the hate’s the new love, smell up the lobby with the drugs
You broke you need game, and the Ferrari you get bugged
You done ran your run into the ground, it’s time that you get snubbed
Still no love…
Альбом
Lloyd Banks – Lloyd Banks - The Cold Corner 2
