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