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Gilmore's (Explicit)
Lloyd Banks
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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Yeah
Y'all niggas know what time it is
Time for that gangsta shit
Nigga
We ain't got shit to live for
Either you're headed for the pen or you're on your way to Gilmore
In the middle of the real war
'Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
I make a million out here
I don't care about a motherfucker out there
My heart cold and my wrist ride
You can fuck around and die over hip-hop
I treat a dollar like a mill', countin' every bill
'Cause if I don't watch mine, another motherfucker will
I'm doin' double but I still tuck the steel
I'm the truth, why the fuck you think 50 cut the deal?
I'm raw as a bag of D when you cut the seal
And I'm lame like the paint job on a Coupe DeVille
I ain't never had a pop, papa never had a son
Nobody to go and get, so I ain't never run
They chat behind my back but they quiet when I come
They treat a little nigga like a giant with a gun
I walk with a swagger like I always had money
'Cause I know they'd rather see my black ass bummy
Ain't nothin' funny, just a whole lot of anger
Mind of a leader, drama of a gangbanger
Come on my property, I ain't gon' call
There'll be splatter on your shirt and it ain't paintball
We ain't got shit to live for
Either you're headed for the pen or you're on your way to Gilmore
In the middle of the real war
'Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
I make a million out here
I don't care about a motherfucker out there
My heart cold and my wrist ride
You can fuck around and die over hip-hop
I don't follow no rules, I'm gettin' in here with the pound
And if I don't, we gon' burn this motherfucker down
I'm comin' through swingin' like they do in H-Town
And I roll down the window to spin your bitch face 'round
I'm a stunner, hoggin' up the lane like the Hummer
'Til the well run dry like the rain in the summer
Even a broke nigga can't afford to go to sleep
Fuck around and get your head popped all over the street
And I ain't got nothin' for 'em but the heat
My little brother want jewelry and Jordans on his feet
Now they recognize him for slaughterin' the beat
And if it wasn't for rap, I'd have your daughter on the street
I been the same since Kane and Slick Rick had it
Now niggas dyin' and call my old whip padded
I work too hard to let a nigga have it
So I pack an automatic for the sideline static
We ain't got shit to live for
Either you're headed for the pen or you're on your way to Gilmore
In the middle of the real war
'Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for
I make a million out here
I don't care about a motherfucker out there
My heart cold and my wrist ride
You can fuck around and die over hip-hop
Yeah
Right
ย
Yeah
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