Lloyd Banks – History 2

Uh We got some history
We, we, we got some

[Verse 1]
Uh, dedicated to ripping shit spiral book and my power tool
Every time I turned around your turnt up, took the soul out of you
Fucking shit up for the future, the kids gon’ follow too
I don’t mean no disrespect but keeping it real gives a sour mood
Fillin’ your arms around 8
Murder by 16’s
Big bodies on 24’s
32 came wanted it more
Gotta chip on your shoulder you gon’ relate
Gave it all that I had they had to testify classic first 48
Dinero scenery playin’ flashes of glory, take my resume
A million heads away, you niggas bore me
We done made history, you don’t fuck with me like you used to
Turned your back on those that’s dear to me, should of never introduced you
Lames bringing out ya true colors, damned if I mix the new blue
Find another 1 to mislead, gone draggin’ my muse through
Dropped a soldier tear on your paper, that ain’t reversible
Relatives caught the sign of a hater, they took it personal
Wanna criticize a great for sinking, I’m thinking the nerve of you
Pushing food on the upper echelon, punch niggas vertical
For the love of all honor, handle your surgical
Massacre on ya beat, leading the ban of the terminal
I hate to put my trust in possession for you to fumble
Damn near gave you all my life, kinda glad I kept somethin’ from you
Should of kept it money,cash,hoes
Look at how you done me, thats’ cold
Use me for my experiences, hard times and sad roads
I brung you south side stories, now you ignore me
For sellers high on their own supply, how did you get this corny
You know what fuck me then, what about those before me
Rolling over at their grave site, guess I’ll be in the same fight
The fuck happened to goon rap, graffiti walls and boom bap
My CD skips the room blacks, I’m really into new plaques
Room on the body list, pretty obvious, challenge hims’ idiotic kiss your one hit bye
Gotta prepare for all cause those that don’t, don’t get bye
Dough boy shit don’t fly, you get hit don’t die
I let you hear the sound of places forbidden, gave me a rhythm
Made me hide out where the hoodlum’s reside
Fame is a prison

They done let a nigga in, now we back to win
Classic on delivery, gold packaging
Put it up I triple what ya averagin’, high grade gatherin’ till they bring the addicts in
They need this in the street I got the grime to flood it
I’m from an iller time, nothin’ reminds me of it
Shattered history here can’t get your mind recovered
Me against them all again, gotta love it

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