Lloyd Banks: Just another day

[Lloyd Banks] Man what the fuck are you lookin for? Can't a young nigga make money any more Blow a couple grand in the NBA Store Rock twenty-four thousand on the NBA floor Niggaz be on stage bendin over on tour Leave anti-social with a case of lochjaw Just cause shorty look good, don't mean that you should go puttin ice on the bitch like she won the Superbowl Even the chips are low, for all these so-called old heads Just ain't the same niggaz I used to know I got a Houston ho - nah she ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer but she a damn good booster though See I could fuck a supermodel with my {?} works Send her home with a smile and a couple kids on her shirt I got a year into the game A 141 rocks layin on my chain, geah! [Chorus: Lloyd Banks] Just another day, chillin in the hood Just another day around the way I'm tipsy off the Hennessy We ridin round with the H-K, nigga we don't play Just another day, chillin in the hood Just another day around the way We smoke a quarter pound a day G-Unit we here to stay, nigga we don't play [Lloyd Banks] Nevermind the lames in my era, they all want me dead And I know, it's all over the way I see bread Here I go, caught up in some he say/she said 'Til I go, put a slug in my enemy's head The Tahoe's, bulletproof so you can't get through Then follow, your ass and whoever ran with you And you about as assed-out as two jammed pistols Bleedin around a bunch of niggaz who can't fix you So bring yours, cause you know I got mine with me kid The 8'll make you lose weight like Missy did The O.G.'s tryin to hide they phony smilin Reputation always arise in Coney Island I'm at your local newsstand jerk While the only XXL you been in as a shirt And, speakin of shirts, get a new white T God damn it feels good to be me - nigga! [Chorus] [Lloyd Banks] Now I'm goin, shoppin with a plastic card now I'm growin, knockin international broads down They know him, they're not gonna even pat the star down I'm holdin, a glock so don't even act that hard now You might bust your gun but your gat's in the car clown So break your lil' weed up and crack your cigars down Cause I ain't tryin to start my visits, with the fuckin judge givin niggaz life like it's parkin tickets Now I get to go to bed with a model And the crib is bout as big as it is on the Belvedere bottle I got all kind of ex' I could ram in they faces Red and blue pills like the man in The Matrix You might have spent some paper on your lil' charm but My piece is bout as heavy as Lil' Jon cup But, it's never tucked, nigga I don't give a fuck I'll get bucked 'fore I give somethin up, yup! [Chorus] [ad libs]