Lloyd Banks - Playboy

DJ Whoo Kid
Intro
Aw man, can I get a raw please
Y'all ready, for the main event
Damn, Lloyd Banks

Lloyd Banks
Guess who's the man this winter, straight out the land of sinners
The ranger's tan wit' spinners, check out the white wheels
Roll wit' the damn winners, or you and your man's finished
You and your rams' fitted, turn off the light switch
Holdin' my torch down, even when the force 'round
You let your wife roam, she want a divorce now
You niggas ain't this gully, playin' to paint ya skully
You'll never take this from me, the riders and all the gangstas from me
You shouldn't be a problem, I ain't be a problem
See ya later I read your head, you be a rodman
I know your type, hoppin' all over the beach screaminYou call it hypin' yourself up, I call it street dreaminI do it for all of the haters, the playas roll wit' the gators
They lookin' forward to favors, gossip is all they gave us
You niggas wasn't quiet, meet the whales and the fishes
You lit the precinct up, playin' tattle-tail wit' the snitches
Even my momma knows, I got all kinda hoes
They wait outside the shows, stripped after the diner close
Out their designer clothes, wit'out the winer rules
Take off my baby blue mink, and Carolina boots
Come here, take a look inside an entertainer's closet
I never trust a bitch, I blame lorainna bobbit
Niggas stay and pocket, I know you mad at me
But shit ain't peaches n' cream, and I ain't Sarah Lee bitch

Chorus:
Don't ice me, you starin' at the wrong one
There's a lot of girls here, go and get up on one
We at the bar poppin', bottles 'til they all gone
If you ain't leavin' here wit' us, you can walk home
'Cause someone else will, they know how we ride
If you a playboy, you got one on each side
Keep your mouth closed, we don't let the beef ride

Ride...ride...ride Damn, let's go

I do this for the hood, niggas stuck in the slammer
I smile 'cause I'm good, you act tough for the camera
Where I'm from the little kids, they fuckin' wit' santa
Cause they like tupac more, word?, word to my grandma
I figure I might as well leave here wit' my glock drawn
'Cause they'll take you to jail even when you're not wrong
Dawg you're not this flashy, but you got to blast me
Every rock is classy, nobody on your block can match me
You shouldn't want a fight
Unless you wanna fight for your life in a hospital 100 nights
I know your type, run behind your girlfriend rushinYou call it quality time, I call it handcuffinI'm on the beach of Miami, cellular reachin' my family
All weekend wit' panties, from Puerto Rican candy
You niggas wasn't tough, I shoulda snapped some flicks
You wore your pants tight, play pitty-pat wit' the chicks
Even my father knows, where the revolver goes
I bring the beef to your front door like dominoes
And my diamonds froze, that means my time froze
We in the club from when its poppin', 'til when the time it's closed
Half of these so-called real niggas can hardly sing
Naw I ain't pullin' over, learnt that from Rodney King
So tell your homey chill, you know I hold it still
Everything ain't jabs and hooks, and you ain't Holyfield, nigga

Chorus

Outro
Everybody on the left get your hands up
Everybody on the right get your hands up
Everybody up front get your hands up
And everybody out back get your hands up
And if you in here wit' a strap get your hands up

Now put 'em up, put 'em up

Whut? Man fuck whut he said

Now put 'em up, put 'em up