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Nigga things, change, dem stay the same |
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Now watch me come up, I hustle, I hustle even harder |
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I put that work in to win, no problem |
|
[Spider Loc] |
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All money ain't good money, this I know |
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But I still love hood money, I gets my dough |
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And as a youngster, a nigga went to so much church |
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And still turned out fucked up, I did so much dirt |
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Chose to bang the neighborhood, I put in so much work |
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Did a whole lot of time, caused mom so much hurt |
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On everythang, that boy wasn't gunned on purpose |
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Who knew that all my darkness was really gon' surface |
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I was stuck on that bullshit, just runnin the streets |
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Without some type of beef the week wasn't complete |
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It's like a nigga feel better after dumpin his heat |
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On feet, just to see that body slumped in the seat |
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Was like a whole nother rush to me, bustin was sweet |
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Now I'm smarter, I'm all about somethin to eat |
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I'm on the road, spend 30 days a month in a suite |
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But I'm still gon' hustle and cheat - let's go |
|
[Chorus] |
|
[Lloyd Banks] |
|
Yeah, uhh, now walkin down the block without'cha weapon |
|
is a first class ticket to a lesson |
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I thirst cash, kick it to perfection, me and Bang got a connection |
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That's why I bring the Benz to impress him |
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{?} my zone, all alone homes rattle in my bones |
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Cause he yappin off his lips and if I hit him I'll be wrong |
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Cause he ain't never gon' be shit, and I done worked so hard |
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But I will make you a corn on the cob, you'll be performin for God |
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Either that or rob you on your boulevard |
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Bet you never thought for a second niggaz'd pull your card God |
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I'm on my job, scarred since my nigga gone |
|
HP tatted on me so his memory lives on |
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Engagin in drama without your bomber'll |
|
be funeral arrangements for your momma |
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I learned that when I was in pajamas watchin Michael and Madonna |
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Now I got the appetite of a pirahna, nigga |
|
[Chorus] |
|
[Spider Loc] |
|
What nobody knows, all the roads you go through |
|
You can't even talk to those that supposedly know you |
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Some of the levels that these people'll go to for crumbs |
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Damn, tell me, is this what that dough do? |
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That's when you find yourself talkin to Pro Tools |
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There's not too many that ever walked in the Loc shoes |
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Or tell the tale that my heart contains |
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I explain, so many different parts of pain |
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I'm clean, but still some marks remain |
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From the past, when that kush weed sparks the brain |
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The cash made some people start to change |
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I feel hate when I pulled up and parked the Range |
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Your damn right I got rich, but my heart the same |
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And practice makes perfect with the art of aim |
|
You ain't really got the heart to bang |
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You ain't start to hang, 'til you found out I caught the chain |
|
[Chorus] |
