Corrección Letra Drop 5 par Lloyd Banks

Regreso

Letra

Uh, keep talkin' that talk 'til we catch you out there and tint your lids
I put all my focus on a new way to bless the kids
There ain't enough accolades to cover the sh*t we did
A grown up had showed up me on the net, but I'm disinterested
When it comes to rated R sh*t, I'm doublin' back like Mr. Big
Worry about family ties 'cause my cousin'll smack you with the SIG
Stumbling backwards, split yo' wig, humbling b*st*rds, fist the jig
I don't even know who the f**k you are, let alone what your business is
Party stares and Cartier glares, ricochet shots and break spears
My sons are dissing mе, mad as hell when the carsеat takes theirs
I trump these n***as, eight tiers, apply the pressure, shake peers
Faced all my fears, seeing my nickname on the marquee, great years
Here's to the slower life, two to three kids, a home, a wife
Stabled in, if I roll the dice, grounded, growing this cultured heist
Living in danger most my life, could've just stopped, I chose my vice
Put in this work to make sure I'm buried in ice (Yo)

You crossed the line, my n***a, none of that sh*t will be forgiven
Take opinions wit' ya, don't ever question how we livin'
Owe it to the dead, and all of my n***as in the prison
This is infrared, right on the target, take it in lead
I need my kids to live fly, I'm not just tryna get by
You violate, meet your fate, me and this nine on my side
Nobody's hidin' whenever you come around, we outside
Let a n***a take one of ours, it's only right we drop five (Uh)
The name will always hold weight, I'll leave it to little Chris
You b*t*h, I'm killing this 'fore you diss me, do your due diligence
Industry playing experiments, damn I wish it was still a fan
Starter for twenty years, on the average day I'll outwill the bench
Call and you'll find the realest stench, I've been the sh*t
I'm still convinced, my penmanship dismember sh*t
I've been feeding this game since I entered it
Back, since you mentioned it, wondering where the tension went
n***as f**king up the draft class, magazine full of trash bags
Smoking and drinking 'til it made me ill, praying for God to take the wheel
My rhyme is exceptional, so my neighbors chill
Be cool, your honor, I'm moving commas, excuse your partner
A true provider, in blue Gabbana, the coupe's designer
My pools piranha, I lose the drama in Punta Cana
There's never a question on who's the rider, remove the timer
Life is a b*t*h, won't makes excuses out her, persevere
Piece of cake when your purpose clear
Second time I've been cursed this year

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