Lyrics The Work Out - Lloyd Banks, 50 Cent

The Work Out

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!
Yeeaah nigga!
Punchline kid is back!
Whooooooooooooooooooooooo Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid!
New York City stand the fuck up, man!
Yeah
Yeah!
— Go get ya camera man!
(yeah!) — That’s a Lambo' fam.
(yeah!)
Gun in the safe, the same one from Rambo hand.
I got a pack of?
— You know whatever chedda!
(huuh?)
Flyin' my New York hoe in — cause her head is better.
(uh!)
I said I’d never sweat her (nah!) — well I guess I lied (lied!)
She suck the ghost outta a nigga and I’m petrified.
(uh!)
You niggas nuthin' but roaches — hit the pesticide
I spray lil', you roll around 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.
(bling!
50 sold 11 mill' brought Tyson house (uh!)
And mine to, cross dude and the knife come out.
I can’t wait to see you bricks on the sidestretch,
Bunch a holes in ya like the bricks in the projects.
Kefflon whips rubber grips for the nonsense,
Conscience — of the consequences, abnoxious.
('Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyy!)
And we can ride all night;
Somebody might come get 'em.
— tie his bandana on too tight.
(uh!)
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.
(yeah!)
I bring all the toys out let the clip go shit
The whip so new — even the bird shit don’t stick.
(whoooo!)
I got a hell of a system sound travel 3 blocks (yeaah?)
Bulletproof doors and all you can eat tops.
(uh!)
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 (ain't me!)
Braggin' 'bout the millions of dollars you ain’t see.
(ain't see!)
Gimme ammo in a jammy!
(uh!) — my hand over a grammy (uh!)
2 cribs, that’s why I ship the Lambo' in Miami.
Please, ain’t tryin' to be in a jam over the panties (uh-uh!)
They love 'em when I leave 'em for the very same reason.
(Lenna!)
One nigga started.
— A couple niggas followed
Now they all can’t eat like the Next Top Model (Top Model!)
New York City boy but they love me in Chicago (RUN!)
A lil more in Philly from here to Atlantic City.
(yeeah!)
I flip flop smokin' around, 6 drop cruisin' the town.
(yeeah!)
6 shot ruger the pound with Hip-Hop screwin' them now.
(yeeah!)
Nah I don’t give a fuck Joe Pesci flow (uh!)
Might win another Vibe award if they let me go.
(lemme go!)
I’m like royalty a muthafuckin' king (haha!)
When I move she move!
— Like a puppet on a string.
50 karats on the bracelet a couple on the ring.
(yeah!)
My treasure chest is a mess, a bucket full of bling.
(yeah!)
I’m the P cut boy I tuck 'em in the whole piece
You mutherfuckas is lucky, I don’t wear gold teeth!
I hear alot of talkin' these niggas they mad at Bank$
I bet they’ll keep on talkin', after this shot they be tellin' the chicks.
My niggas they get it poppin' find-out when we at ya wake
You and you in your coffin, damn you made a big mistake.
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 TTAH?
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
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!
Haha!