50 Cent & Lloyd Banks - Victory lyrics

rate me

Yo, yo we can't stay alive forever

So if shit hit the fan then we might as well die together

I'm high as ever, more hoes and more cheddar

G-Unit move around wit them pounds and berreta's

Yea, faggot, if I want it, I'm gon' have it

Regardless if it's handed to me or I gotta grab it

Don't make a ass outta yaself tryin' to stop me

I'm cocky, raps rocky, nigga you sloppy

You know that I'm, 8 levels above you nigga

I'll club you nigga, I never heard of you nigga, it's ugly nigga

I'm the wrong one to provoke

You rattin' on niggas is only gon' leave you smoked

So the only thing left now is toast for these cowards

I got no friends, fuck most of these cowards

They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards

While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers

I got a inter-gangstress who argue and steams wit reefer

And who flip when I call a bitch like she Queen Latifah

Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the street sweeper

This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker

We slidin' through the ruckus, wit Prada on the chuckus

Soon as spring break ho's home from college wanna fuck us

I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas

I'll sick rottweiler's on you fuckas, cops followin' to cuff us

Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros

When it comes to paper, I blow a soul outta aero

I'ma break before I lay floor berry

Besides, every rapper ain't a star, nigga plad ain't bulbary

You can't tame Lloyd, smokin' by the big screen

You changin' the channel looks like I'm playin' the game, boy

I know the rock's botherin' ya vision

But reach and I'll put a dot on ya head like it's part of yo religion

Why party wit a pigeon?

I'm blowin' a 10 'cause Bush handin' flyers for a party in a prison

I'm in the Gucci vest wit the green and red straps

I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack

Now every morning's a fast start

And there ain't problem gettin' dressed

'Cause my closet got more aisles than pathmark

Run, move startin to raid and leave

Wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs

I'm the young pimp pardon my age

I don't got long hair but if I did she be partin' my braids

We just find out what club they at

Take 'em wit us and run a train on 'em like a subway mat

Yer advance is a gray acura

These record labels got most artists

Gettin fucked like the gay rappa'

I go to college on a tour

I'm goin down in history nigga, next to Wallace and Shakur

I keep ya ammo clean, tec's polished in the drawer

Camera's by the hamper that mine into the floor

By now, you probably heard of me

Fresh outta surgery, flashy as a fuck, you gon' have to murder me

Burglary, were leavin' wit cha nike's burgandy, White T, burgundy

You match now, back down

Niggas love to hate you but love you when you disappear

Catch me on the boat wit weed smoke and fishing gear

Heavy when I toke, C notes from different years

Besly in the robe, re-motes for liftin' chairs

We ain't rich but we be glad to snatch ya

I send cars to your crib like I'm a cab dispatcha

You better off wit ya stupid guys, lookin' for a coupe to drive

You ain't gettin' nuttin' but ya french fries supersized

It's a damn shame y'all still local

I'm in a million dollar studio layin' my vocals, nigga

Still in the projects nigga, you ain't goin' nowhere

You gon' fuckin' be there for the rest of yo muthafuckin' life

And yo momma said, I'm supposed to tell you somethin'

To encourage you, somethin' positive

Aight well, I ain't gon' lie to you muthafucka

He ain't goin' nowhere

Get yaself a beer, get on the fuckin' curb

Fuckin' dirtbag