Текст песни Lloyd Banks - Father Time

H.F.M. 2 (The Hunger for More 2)
Жанр: Rap
Исполнитель: Lloyd Banks
Альбом: H.F.M. 2 (The Hunger for More 2)
Длительность: 03:25
Рейтинг: 988
MP3: Скачать
Загрузил: W-E-I-G-H-T


{Intro} Yeah!... I hear you... and Ima make you shut the f*** up! {Chorus} yeah they see me movin they gon need to stop drop off the face of earth but Ima make it pop hot these niggas are not not watch me take my spot got money got power and respect baby I just hope times on my side Ive been tryin all my life every block someones dyin always high heres our life come inside [Verse 1] energies my ammunition like AK shells so think about that when you plan on dissin go straight to hell bred to be ballin since a baby kickin I had the smell *sniffs* brand new money ladies sniffin they take a L I take a s*** on rappers horse worth cant die must conquer the world first like a monster to media on my beautiful girls search high and low I am no thing u tamper wit made the plan you should cancel it make examples I trample s*** drop you here I am cancerous answer this, who can handle this? scandalous I dismantles these ants and p*** on a trucer you think I seen the future how I wam crip recruper fire hand wam became a brand new man big producer ugh gift from heaven livin legend and I come from queens robbin leggin 3-5-7 in my f***** jeans sufferin and f***** up schemes twin Bentleys matchin beamers on a couple beams try my sentenc-in {Chorus} [Verse 2] murdered half of yall on my mixtapes come rap up in my wrath now Im laughin look at ya rib cage ya ass been in a slump come blastin I lend ya b**** face success is wut they want tongue lashin'll get ya s*** sprayed have it how you want blood bath Im as sharp as switchblade you'll be smilin for life love flashin I got the s*** made forget where Im at now I passed em around the 6th grade passion for my profession outlast anyone you could name hood fame got me ridin in wood grain look lame Stanten, Harlem to Brooklyn they know im cooked Cain took aim rappin would bang I could change but this sport aint a good game Im strappin sir back seat in the passenger semi-auto massacre shoppin while I laugh at ya rappers feed my appetite metaphors will tackle ya these niggas aint half as nice playboy in my afterlife real n**** wit cash and ice drop the bread pass the dice hope I crack twice {Chorus}
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