| I’m gon’ride!
|
| They gon’ride!
|
| We all gon’ride!
|
| I’ve come from the heart of South Side
|
| Holdin it down for my niggaz that died
|
| I gotta dizzy bird on my side
|
| Pop shit and get your whole mouth wired
|
| Baby that’s right stay off the payroll
|
| I have niggaz scrapin the skin off your face
|
| with the same shit that peel the potatoes
|
| I thank the Lord for my blessings, and I’m glad he gave us The willpower, and the reflexes of Larry Davis
|
| You don’t wanna see my block formin
|
| That’s a hundred and one dawgs
|
| And I don’t mean the ones with the spots on 'em
|
| We’re respected highly
|
| Cause you ain’t gotta practice gymnastics to catch a body
|
| Me and money’s like Whitney, next to Bobby
|
| If I bring all my niggaz I need an extra lobby
|
| As soon as you ain’t around Jake, you get your ass whipped
|
| for chips, now that’s the real definition of poundcake
|
| I got the crown snake, and you can tell when I’m shoppin
|
| Cause when the mall stampedin you feel the ground shake
|
| I got a car I only drive on Thursdays
|
| I’m a stunner, Banks blows more cake than birthdays
|
| Looka here, ain’t nobody 'round here scared
|
| I’m headed for the top, and I’m almost there
|
| Oh yeah! |
| Shiny shit right here
|
| I work magic and make you niggaz dissapear
|
| You know how I gets down, this pound hold six rounds
|
| I told you I’d be back bitch, talk that shit now!
|
| You hear that fo'-fifth sound, duck when I spit rounds
|
| Cause this ain’t Beverly Hills, you in the Bricks now
|
| We ain’t got shit down here but dope and guns for sale
|
| You get your head cracked, then niggaz don’t run and tell
|
| It’s like we sell crack, get caught head back to jail
|
| We on that Fuck the Police shit, we’re livin in hell
|
| You better guard your grill homey and stand your ground
|
| These bullets burn, they hit whoever’s standin around
|
| I never learned, even after I took a couple shots
|
| I just got me some Band-Aids, and bought a couple glocks
|
| Had to go on a rampage, and hit a couple blocks
|
| Once they hear that 12 gauge, that’s when the trouble stops
|
| If it’s beef then I’m ready to ride
|
| Just come to Ca$hville, you can find me on the South Side
|
| Motherfucker!
|
| Now I ain’t from Michigan, but I’m in the Fab Five
|
| You know, Yayo and 50, Buck and Game, you know my fuckin name
|
| Whether the truck or train, my mind stuck on the grind
|
| Cussin without a line, a lot of suckers came
|
| Yeah you talkin shit, but we can all tell he ass
|
| Jazz and black his eyes like the R. Kelly mass
|
| You gotta blast me yo, cause the Louisville’ll
|
| have your head lookin like the top of a pistachio
|
| The young gunner with the raspy flow
|
| Got every boyfriend, thinkin they girlfriend’s a nasty ho My heart laugh and it’s small, maybe it’s cause
|
| my grandpop dropped, right after the ball
|
| Banks hops out, bulletproof this, bulletproof that
|
| Bulletproof snorkel, when you hot, they hawk you
|
| I got the hood on my shoulder, chain big as a boulder
|
| The 3−5-7 tucker, motherfucker!
|
| Geah, haha. |
| motherfucker! |
| I’m here, yeah!
|
| G-Unit!!! |
| Money by any means, nigga |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Work Magic, artist - Lloyd Banks. Album song The Hunger For More, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп