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lirik lagu 50 cent lloyd banks – victory

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yo, yo we can’t stay alive forever
so if sh-t hit the fan then we might as well die together
i’m high as ever, more hoes and more cheddar
g-unit move around wit them pounds and berreta’s

yea, f-ggot, if i want it, i’m gon’ have it
regardless if it’s handed to me or i gotta grab it
don’t make a -ss outta yaself tryin’ to stop me
i’m c-cky, raps rocky, n-gg- you sloppy

you know that i’m, 8 levels above you n-gg-
i’ll club you n-gg-, i never heard of you n-gg-, it’s ugly n-gg-
i’m the wrong one to provoke
you rattin’ on n-gg-s is only gon’ leave you smoked

so the only thing left now is toast for these cowards
i got no friends, f-ck most of these cowards
they pop sh-t ’till we start approaching these cowards
while we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers

i got a inter-gangstress who argue and steams wit reefer
and who flip when i call a b-tch like she queen latifah
not all the vehicle’s is long enough to stash the street sweeper
this sh-t can get uglier than the master p sneaker

we slidin’ through the ruckus, wit prada on the chuckus
soon as spring break ho’s home from college wanna f-ck us
i ain’t here to drop knowledge on you suckas
i’ll sick rottweiler’s on you f-ckas, cops followin’ to cuff us

top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros
when it comes to paper, i blow a soul outta aero
i’ma break before i lay floor berry
besides, every rapper ain’t a star, n-gg- plad ain’t bulbary

you can’t tame lloyd, smokin’ by the big screen
you changin’ the channel looks like i’m playin’ the game, boy
i know the rock’s botherin’ ya vision
but reach and i’ll put a dot on ya head like it’s part of yo religion

why party wit a pigeon?
i’m blowin’ a 10 ’cause bush handin’ flyers for a party in a prison
i’m in the gucci vest wit the green and red straps
i’m the last rapper to scare n-gg-s since craig mack

now every morning’s a fast start
and there ain’t problem gettin’ dressed
’cause my closet got more aisles than pathmark
run, move startin to raid and leave
wit 12 sh-lls in ya mouth like a carton of eggs

i’m the young pimp pardon my age
i don’t got long hair but if i did she be partin’ my braids
we just find out what club they at
take ’em wit us and run a train on ’em like a subway mat

yer advance is a gray acura
these record labels got most artists
gettin f-cked like the gay rappa’
i go to college on a tour

i’m goin down in history n-gg-, next to wallace and shakur
i keep ya ammo clean, tec’s polished in the drawer
camera’s by the hamper that mine into the floor
by now, you probably heard of me

fresh outta surgery, flashy as a f-ck, you gon’ have to murder me
burglary, were leavin’ wit cha nike’s burgandy, white t, burgundy
you match now, back down
n-gg-s love to hate you but love you when you disappear
catch me on the boat wit weed smoke and fishing gear

heavy when i toke, c notes from different years
besly in the robe, re-motes for liftin’ chairs
we ain’t rich but we be glad to sn-tch ya
i send cars to your crib like i’m a cab dispatcha

you better off wit ya stupid guys, lookin’ for a coupe to drive
you ain’t gettin’ nuttin’ but ya french fries supersized
it’s a d-mn shame y’all still local
i’m in a million dollar studio layin’ my vocals, n-gg-

still in the projects n-gg-, you ain’t goin’ nowhere
you gon’ f-ckin’ be there for the rest of yo m-th-f-ckin’ life
and yo momma said, i’m supposed to tell you somethin’
to encourage you, somethin’ positive

aight well, i ain’t gon’ lie to you m-th-f-cka
he ain’t goin’ nowhere
get yaself a beer, get on the f-ckin’ curb
f-ckin’ dirtbag