Letra Just another day de Lloyd Banks

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[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!


[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!


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