The Work Out Pt. 4 (2006)

Lyrics

[Hook: 50 Cent & (Lloyd Banks)] I hear alot of talkin' niggas must be mad at Bank$ (Ah you bitch ass niggas! Y'all niggas love talkin') (I just smile on my dude! Y'all can catch me) But there's only one problem, niggas ain't as bad as Bank$ (On the top of the newboard this summer) (Yeah nigga! Punchline kid is back) (New York City stand the fuck up, man! Yeah) [Verse: Lloyd Banks] Go get ya camera man That's a Lambo' fam Gun in the safe, the same one from Rambo hand I got a pack of ? You know whatever chedda Flyin' my New York hoe in cause her head is better I said I'd never sweat her Well I guess I lied She suck the ghost outta a nigga and I'm petrified You niggas nuthin' but roaches hit the pesticide I spray lil', you roll around god in ya neck and die I'm the nicest out Look at the ring you hear the price and pout Every 16th I ice 'em out 50 sold 11 mill' brought Tyson house And mine to, cross dude and the knife come out I can't wait to see you bricks on the side stretch Bunch a holes in ya like the bricks in the projects Kefflon whips rubber grips for the nonsense Conscience of the consequences, obnoxious And we can ride all night Somebody might come get 'em tie his bandana on too tight You can book 'em short notice, I'm a sell out in the night The car won't get me there But the helicopter might I bring all the toys out let the clip go shit The whip so new even the bird shit don't stick I got a hell of a system sound travel 3 blocks Bulletproof doors and all you can eat tops Runnin' out to me I only need the funerals I button all you niggas up like Jay-Z I smoke for free when I'm out in DC VVS's is in my ear clearer than HD I don't know why he walk around with my logo he ain't me Braggin' 'bout the millions of dollars you ain't see Gimme ammo in a jammy my hand over a Grammy 2 cribs, that's why I ship the Lambo' in Miami Please, ain't tryin' to be in a jam over the panties They love 'em when I leave 'em for the very same reason One nigga started. A couple niggas followed Now they all can't eat like the Next Top Model New York City boy but they love me in Chicago A lil more in Philly from here to Atlantic City I flip flop smokin' around, 6 drop cruisin' the town 6 shot ruger the pound with Hip-Hop screwin' Nah I don't give a fuck Joe Pesci flow Might win another Vibe award if they let me go I'm like royalty a muthafuckin' king When I move she move like a puppet on a string 50 karats on the bracelet a couple on the ring My treasure chest is a mess, a bucket full of bling I'm the P cut boy I tuck 'em in the whole piece You mutherfuckas is lucky,I don't wear gold teeth [Hook: 50 Cent] I hear alot of talkin' these niggas they mad at Bank$ I bet they'll keep on talkin', after this shot they'll be tellin' the Jake My niggas they get it poppin' find out when we at your wake You and you in your coffin, damn you made a big mistake [Outro: 50 Cent] Yeah It's 50 nigga Y'all niggas know whassup Lloyd Bank$ The changin' of the cards I'll be back nigga... I'll just fall back Feel what I'm sayin'? It's Bank$ turn nigga Now watch this You hear that ? That's the money machine Boop, boop, boop You hear that ?... That's the money truck backin' up It's Lloyd Bank$ nigga! You should already know ? You gonna eat with the Unit Or you gonna eat a can of sardines