Correction Paroles Propane [Explicit] par Lloyd Banks

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Paroles

Yeah!
Banks!
COTI!
Yo

Hundred dollar bills for sit-up drills, my benji' reps
Ignorant, and I don't give two f**ks with Fendi F's
Learning by habit, consistency made the memory stretch
Turn you to an addict, your lady'll kiss the Bentley chest
Dig your way out the ground or spend a century stressed
I get you stomped off seniority, shouldn't tempt the vets
Uh, playa haters make my temper flex
Twenty years of pushing this pen, an instrumental threat
Death to haters, can't even be hеre in spirit
Kill a n***a, set up his GoFundMe and stеal it
Designer chronic, pockets reeking out the air vent
I can show you where to buy this sh*t, can't teach you how to wear it
It's a waste going back and forth, success will really kill 'em
Balling like Russell Westbrook, Bill or Wilson
Give me rappers, I'ma kill some, mumblers on my jacket
Drop the remains in traffic, clubbin' like I'm barbaric
Star addicts

Nothing is the same
These n***as don't deserve to rock, run 'em out the game
They love it when we serve the block, this is cocaine
The temperature is falling and this sh*t ain't gon' change
n***a drive safely, swerving out of lane
The pain is strong enough to make a n***a go insane
We just want the money, y'all can have the fame
Promise I'll remain, put it on my chain, propane (Uh)
Dummies justification is it's working, does a cubic flash?
Everybody just can't be hating, my n***a, you just trash
Ass kissers dropping to knees, you need the Ewing pads
I ain't seen't you n***as since teen, still hope you doing bad
Country of the serpent, y'all all in bed with the snake
Black fitted reads, "When was America great?"
In the bootleg era left competition dead on a tape
Kryptonite to super save a ho, infrared on your cape
sh*t, I'm lying? Get me amputated, cradle to the casket homie
Nothing 'bout me animated, only use the cash emoji
Everybody make mistakes, let nothing out the past control me
Married to the motherf**king game, frozy matrimony
Hate when they compare me to n***as, never been even son
Hammer to a hand grenade, cannon to a BB gun
pu**y talking slick about me, who you think was feeding them?
I pull up on you all four quarters, let the meter run

clip

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