Lloyd Banks - Money Crime op Lyrkit

Lyrkit

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Money Crime

Money Crime

(album: Halloween Havoc 3: Four Days Of Fury - 2016)

Cheffing up continuous, rapper raps in my melting pot
Injuries consecutive, snapping necks 'cause I'm felt a lot
Mix me in with the great names, weirdo ones on the shelf to rot
Bread in a box is hot when no card swaps, we were dealt the block
I'm rolling
This emcee's chosen, your end piece open
Always cooking, look at the Ben's he's smoking
Cement me toping
Broken from foul disappointments since youth
Our only choice is fixed truth
Listen, my voice will hit roofs, record in a bulletproof booth
Birds in your movement soon as you pull a few coupes
Turn to snotty, your stuck-up, tight as group loose
A shotty to your deuce deuce
Back on my worst behavior, the don who raised ya
Hoping a legend takes a shot at me, bet my response is greater
Somebody quote me, I'll be back for the trophy, beyond creative
None of them really how they making it seem, peons persuasive
Bet on your life you witnessed something this cool, freons and tanks
If I get to blacking, foul reaction
You're boring really, the crowds relaxing

Counted a nigga out, but you fucked up and got a survivor
It takes a check to go to war, let's take it dollar for dollar
We strategize with discipline, won't break the mind of a rider
Giant in the game of little niggas, watch me fucking tower
Money, crime and sex, time to stretch on a private jet
Hundred thousand neck, hail the vets, give me my respect
Stumbling out the 'jects, headed to the top's what I expect
Put that on the set, stomp competition for rep

Here's your overdose of reality
The ghetto made me sharp, carved my anatomy
Gem star to your writing arm, what a tragedy
Stronger I get to break from these demons
Harder they grabbing me
Battling with the powers that be, bomb in a traffic free
Terrorize your rap entry, sing along with catastrophe
Niggas never been half of me, I split apart they lacking G
Hoopties out of my fucking lane
Wanted timer designer his buckle frames
Not many can hang, maybe a couple names
Pencil me married to clarity, check my knuckle game
Bars climb through hard times, coming in clutch, my crutch is pain
Cancerous critics done tampered with it, no fucks remain
Fuck 'em all with a passion, I'm classic, CD deluxe and frame
I'm living
My flow is like a S6 with the kit in
World in my palms, two decades too long, juggling women
Got stones jumping in rhythm
Ice package, my wrist rocky
Spotlight in my ear, qiang hitting like Big Papi

Counted a nigga out, but you fucked up and got a survivor
It takes a check to go to war, let's take it dollar for dollar
We strategize with discipline, won't break the mind of a rider
Giant in the game of little niggas, watch me fucking tower
Money, crime and sex, time to stretch on a private jet
Hundred thousand neck, hail the vets, give me my respect
Stumbling out the 'jects, headed to the top's what I expect
Put that on the set, stomp competition for rep

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