About This Track
"Money Crime ***" is a track by Lloyd Banks, from the album Halloween Havoc 3: Four Days of Fury, released 31st October 2016. Full lyrics are available below.
Lyrics
[Verse 1] Cheffin' up continuous, rapper raps in my melting pot Injuries consecutive, snappin' 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 rollin' This emcee's chosen, your end piece open Always cookin', look at the Ben's he's smokin' Cement me topin' 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 Hopin' 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 blackin', foul reaction You're boring really, the crowds relaxin' [Chorus] 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 [Verse 2] 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 grabbin' me Battlin' 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 lackin' 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 jumpin' in rhythm Ice package, my wrist rocky Spotlight in my ear, qiang hittin' like Big Papi [Chorus] 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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