Work out, Pt.4 - Lloyd Banks, 50 Cent

Uh!

Circle the crib cause they follow ya'

Jealousy’s startin' to show like the ribs in Somalia

Cover ya tracks or the pigs will swallow ya'

And make it easier being a part of ya

I’m a survivor!

Even with the .9!

The baseball bat, switchblade or screwdriver

The Llam' got a kick like Rowdy Rowdy Piper

I put ya brain all over ya windshield wiper

Nigga' go practice, the flow is ferocious

Million dollar face and it’s all over posters!

We living great so we hit the shows and roasters

Them nigga’s hate so we hit the show with toasters

Project bitches!

Those is holsters

We ain’t off point cause hoes approach us

Slip up and I’m a steamroll you roaches

I roll with the vultures they eager to pop ya

I give you a reason to believe in ya doctor!

Fuck a Bentley!

I got a key to the chopper

With zoom in vision.

It’s easy to spot ya!

And yeah, I went Platinum off my first L. P!

But it’s all off one record so I’m gon' do three

There’s only so long I’m gon' take the hate

Before I DDT ya ass like Jake the Snake

Nigga' rather see a thug dead, cause I love bread!

The Uzi’ll have you flyin' like Spud Webb

I’m something like the rap-ravishing Rick

I’m that slick!

That’s why all these nigga’s on my dick!

(?) reach and respond to them

But I’m like nope!

You just mad because you broke

You won’t be satisfied 'til I get you in the yoke

And I keep squeezing, 'til you slipping in a stroke

Then I’m Dipping in a boat and every bar I wrote

Sent chills through ya veins like I’m dipping in the coke

I ride the track harder than Pippen when you broke

I lean on the beat like a fiend on dope

The boy been hot before Hammer went broke

Tyson was bittin' and Rakim had the rope

I’m chilling while you act hard

Sipping on lemonade that the maid made from the tree in the backyard!

I got my own sneaker, dick!

I don’t wear those!

The entrepren-nigga' won’t put on their clothes

The industry’s filled with a bunch of fuckin' weirdo’s

Actin like they don’t want diamonds in their earlobe

So what hood you grew up in?

Cause comin' where I’m from, motherfuckas want something!

My eyes all poky and red, cause me and Buck like Smoky and Craig

You learn something if you open up ya head

I don’t party unless they pay me

You want me to perform that’s an extra 80

You almost on your last meal

So I got three words for you, Straight Outta Ca$hville!