Lloyd Banks: Gilmore's

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
We ain't got shit to live for
Your either headed for the pen
Or you're on your way to Gilmore
In the middle of the real war
Cause the five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
I make her mail ya out yeah
I don't care about a motherfucker out there
My heart cold and my wrist rock
You could fuck around and die over hip hop

[Verse 1: Lloyd Banks]
I treat a dollar like a mill
Countin every bill
Cause of I don't watch mine
Another motherfucker will
I went double but I still tuck the steel
I'm the truth why the fuck you think 50 cut the deal?
Rawer than a bag of D when you cut the seal
And I bling like the paint job on a Coupe DeVille
I ain't ever had a pop
Poppa never had a son
Nobody to go and get so I ain't ever run
They chat behind my back but they quiet when I come
They treat a little nigga like a giant with a gun
I walk with a swagger like I always had money
Cause I know, they rather see my black ass bummy
Ain't nothin funny
Just a whole lot of anger
Mind of a leader drama of a gang banger
If you come on my property I ain't 'gon call
They'll be a splatter on ya shirt and it ain't paint ball (right)

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
We ain't got shit to live for
Your either headed for the pen
Or you're on your way to Gilmore
In the middle of the real war
Cause the five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
I make her mail ya out yeah
I don't care about a motherfucker out there
My heart cold and my wrist rock
You could fuck around and die over hip hop

[Verse 2: Lloyd Banks]
I don't follow no rules I'm gettin in here with the pound
And if I don't we gon' burn this motherfucker down
I'm comin' through swingin' like they do in H-Town
And I roll down the window and spin ya bitch face round
I'm a stunna
Hoggin' up the lane like the Hummer
'Till the wheel run dry like the rain in the summer
Even a broke nigga can't afford to go to sleep
Fuck around and get your head popped all over the street
And I ain't got nothin' for 'em but the heat
My little brother want jewelry and Jordans on his feet
Now, they'll recognize if ya slaughterin' the beat
And if it wasn't for rap
I'd have ya daughter on the street
I've been the same
Since Kane and Slick Rick had it
Now niggas die in they car my whole whip padded
I work to hard to let a nigga have it
So I pack a automatic for the sideline static (yeah)

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
We ain't got shit to live for
Your either headed for the pen
Or you're on your way to Gilmore
In the middle of the real war
Cause the five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
I make her mail ya out yeah
I don't care about a motherfucker out there
My heart cold and my wrist rock
You could fuck around and die over hip hop

[Lloyd Banks:]
yeah riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight yeah