We Don’t Play – Styles P feat Lloyd Banks
[Styles P:]
Do the same thing, get the same results!
Creepin’ like Batman, stronger than The Hulk.
Runnin’ to the bank teller dump it for the vault;
On my “Town” sh_t, Ben Affleck. – Whole n_gga cause
Most men just half-step,
I ride hard, Motherf_cker and I ain’t crash yet.
You don’t know or you do know.
I’m like Mario Puzo with Cujo!
You don’t get it? I’m a prolific animal. – Every verse flammable!
Weird like Murdoch. – Thinkin’ like Hannibal!
Man like Face but I’m wild like B.A.
Bullet to your head when you talkin’ to the D.A.
Talkin’ to the judge, – and I be in the cab
Cause I think the car bugged. – I don’t play with hard luck!
Killin’ your homeboy, now you call it hard love;
Treat you like a blunt how I’m gettin’ you sparked up!
[Chorus: Lloyd Bank$]
N_gga we don’t play! – We handle problems the worst way
We’ll get you shot, stabbed, robbed on your birthday!
N_gga you ain’t got no bidness ’round here in the first place;
Look at everybody chillin’! – Well f_ck that!
I’m a play the villain. – F_ck that! – I’m here to make a killin’
All money’s good money, weed and liquor stealin’!
Small money, tall money, n_gga we want it all;
Left hand on the wheel. – Other hand on the drawer!
[Lloyd Bank$:]
Nino icepick through your writin’ hand
Heart like a rock, hard to drop like Spider-Man.
Park your pretty cars up. – Hop inside the rider van;
Punctuate you lung for a couple hundred dollars, fam’!
Drive of a street lord. – Knowledge of a college man;
Almighty dollars get you dead, make your momma plan.
Nuttin’ like the sound of dough. – I’m a make the commas dance;
Numbers jump high numb and drunk in my drama stance!
The no fly zone. – You don’t get a city chance;
Show up at your show, make you hoes piss your skinny pants.
I’m with Sammy so my haters can’t stand me
And jam me! – I’m runnin’ n_ggaz over like Brandy.
Mother-f_ck a Grammy! – Give me weed and eye candy;
Coca-Cola daughter, p_ssy from a very nice family.
Won’t last steppin’ in the street without the swammy;
From SouthDide to Y.O. – n_ggaz die daily!
[Chorus]
[Styles P:]
I’m hard and the problem like algebra;
Only use the gun if it’s a high enough caliber.
You ain’t a “Dodge” car, and you ain’t no “Challenger”
Play witcha life, n_gga, but you ain’t no gambler!
Die any day of the week. – Go get a calendar!
Harder than Russian Roulette. – N_gga f_ck a Gilette!
I take a gun and put a buck to your neck
Or.50 to your grill, bring the blicky to the hill!
These young n_ggaz is buggin’. – Tipsy off the pills,
I bring the fire like a motherf_ckin’ Bic lighter.
Paper shredder eraser to any sick writer;
Ghost is Apocalypse; – holdin’ your esophagus!
Runnin’ through the sh_t like a motherf_ckin’ rhinoceros.
Nasty like a hippo is. – Show you what a sicko is!
Barrel to your girl clit. – B_tch, is you ticklish?
You gon’ f_ck around and get – burned like syphilis!
[Chorus]
[Beat fades-out]
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