[Intro: DJ Whoo Kid & Lloyd Banks]
Whoooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhh!
I'm back! (Mo Money!)
Gang Green! (Part 3!)
Yeah, cashing in (YEAH!)
[Verse: Lloyd Banks]
Yo boy's sick, so move or the germ might touch ya, I'm at the rucker
Burnin' the trees up like Usher
When I teach you how to rap fam, I'm in that black van
Like air ones and canaries the size of Pacman, none stop
Who gives a fuck if it's our brawl cause my dog got the windows
From the 24-hour store, I'm on the verge of flippin'
Lord send me a sign fore I empty this nine and leave the board drippin'
Me and 50 are like Michael and Pippin', Ryu and Ken
Whoever you send I'ma rip 'em, I'm added to damn society
Mainly with my system, run and put 'em in the truck
Like a kidnapping victim, I'm papa so they pushin' me harder
My associates got interior motives like wishin' his father
I figure, I rather play with' these blades before I pass
Build a ball court and go buy bentleys to go to crash
I'm headed towards my prime with metaphors and lines
And I compliment my momma with pedicures and wind
I'm line from line, the rap Einstein, pound for pound, I'm Tyson
AKA Icyin' message for the record I ain't sleepin' for a second
So even if I make it there's a tool under the pillow
God, I'm brought up, damn, to the V with a polish from the window
I'm a smoker so the brokas won't leave us with the Indo
I'm always with' a pair, fore the crew looks for the bimbo
A dead meats in your daughter, I'll fuck her and won't support her
I'm matching on the pedal, smile from ear to ear
Middle finger in the air, before I catch her eye
Keep ridin' behind your tens fuck, niggas don't know no better
They'll rob you for the rhinestones and your pimp cup
They goin' off if we say niggas is runnin' off from my buzz
Faster than Jamaicans in the relay, I'm blowin' the kush
Driving lazy in the lane, yelling money ain't a thang like Jay-Z and Jermaine
About 80 on the chain like Brady, with' the aim
I'm the same, whether the Mercedes or the train
And I may be on a plane by the end of the night, but it's aight
I might throw, I'm rich off a mic hoe, my stamina's low
X-Rated is my type so I keep the crib packed in
No telling where it might go, living room, dining room
Bedroom and bathroom, upstairs nuts smared, all over
Your sasoon, ya on that fly shit, that south side shit
That I'm a sell on these 10 million before I die shit
I'm from the block, where the heafers be to doing show
Out in Pinkston, when they rocking where your peppers see
And being gangsta ain't enough, a lil nigga that's stuntin'
Will put a killa in a box like Chuck – CH'EAH!!
