Banks Workout Part Ii Lyrics

Banks Workout Part Ii lyrics

I Been problem since the old days pimps and gold caps 

now im in oj
simpson throwbacks 

ya'll was wonderin where my ass been 

probally
vacationin on south beach gettin head like ass 

breathin through gas i
can let the tech pound ur ego 

lock you in the closet with the westnile
mosquito 

the press crowd the people espicially celebritys im heavily
shittin on any tom dick or gregory 

nigga you better be strappin 

they want you dead if you rappin 

im tryin to cave your head and your
back in 

im gettin bread and relaxin 

and attractin a fan base of
females wit emails and letters to fax in

in vegas with a toaster n a
blunt 

and the hotel i checked in got a roller coaster in the front 

hollerin poster when i stunt the sammy sosa of the month 

better yet
the hoe teas and nigga im still breathin even though my dollars are green 

i rap for the kids thats to poor to waste eggs on halloween 

im gettin
swallow clean 

my habits are good collectin all the carrots i could 

slidin from the stash box to conceal extortion 

and a good silencer to
make it sound like the wheel of fortune 

all this careless talkin cause
im travelin and flossin 

havin a good time and u havin a abortion 

you sucker for love gettin married and divorced than 

you cant even
afford the batteries for ur walkman 

man im out the hood burnin cali weed
on slauson when set trip can turn to tragedys and coffins, look 

i mean
what im sayin you schemin im sprayin ur team isnt playin 

on the sofa
screamin and and prayin sayin 

gunit niggas be rollin crazy holdin 80s
older ladies starin cause they starin in that gold mercedes 

since 50
hooked up with shady 

now they tryin to brook up to pay me 

if u
think im sugar u crazy baby 

the boy strapped two ninas  

smokin
out a bag big enough to fit in vacuum cleaners 

i wear a glove when i
blaze a fatty, 

i aint ur baby daddy, u flippin 

now he tryin to
grab me out that navy caddie, i aint ur avy, 

poppa was a rollin stone,


stockin up the hona home, 

pocket full of loaded chrome, 

drop n get a hold a dome, 

i know ur motive homes, 

u mad cause
im fuckin half ur motorolla phone,

im swift with the wemon im good wit my
words, alota, 

niggas is hatin on what i deserve im hotta, 

front if
u want end up on the curb in ur prada, 

and ur mans runnin ambulance come,


another day another dollar on the low from the impala 

i can have a
six some in my shower, mother fucka!