"Home Sweet Home"
[feat. Pusha T]
Pressured man, when I heard the General said:
"We've just about got the city and the control now." [beat starts]
Yeah! - 20 miles an hour in my long Bentley
Shame on you hater, that's what the Lord sent me. (haahhhh!)
Shit, lately I've been practicing my gas face (uh-huh!)
Cause that's what I'm a give 'em when they land in last place.
Hand right by the Hammer, ain't too many seeing-seeing us
So they wanna take my gifts. - But I wrap 'em with the.5th!
My regular scent is piff - currency and cashmere
You done drove your bitch away, I told her she can crash here!
Yeah! - I'm counting paper like the cashier.
Livin' like I'm limited; breathing like it's my last air! (ha!)
My boy in and out the box, super stupid soldier! (uh-huh!)
Told me if he can do it again, he'd do it over.
Poverty's king cobra! - Squeeze ya life out! (uh!)
Cause it's the fatalities and casualtes I should write 'bout. (hmmm!)
These rappers ain't iced out! - They just fooling niggas
Running round town fakers. - (Zir) Conian cubic, niggas!
[Chorus: Lloyd Bank$]
Uhh! - Only money matters in the game, fuck the fame!
I gotta eat dollar signs, feed my hunger pain!
Music like Heroin, leave you numb the same,
Play me like I'm something sweet - be apart of summer slayin'!
Most hate it most doubt it. - That's what they shout it!
I'm on top now! - There's nothing they can do about it.
Y'all better have y'all out guns (guns!) cause where I'm from, (from!)
There ain't no way around it. - Home sweet home...
You mothafuckas can rap 'til you blue in the face
You'll probably turn into "Smurfs" with the time that you waste.
Through-out histroy they throwing shots at the greats,
But I shoot back! - The Lord ain't designed me for hate.
I've never understood Martin Luther with the speech,
With the whole World watching me, turn the other cheek?
Never! - So there's one left to die in the streets
Cause his long arms happens to connect with his reach!
Try to kill you then, them near misses was God's kisses,
True Hollywood story, ghetto tie bridges.
Different strokes that nigga broke, this nigga reach!
You only read about the cars that I paddle shift.
You only dream about the hoes that I dabble with,
Balcony views, like a postcard, imagine this!
White stones, black steel, cold chrome;
This city's my doormat! Bitch home sweet home!
Uhh! - Niggas see me when you see me, should I'm only seen
Off the Queens magazines, pissy hallway scenes. (yeah!)
Paying crowds, hunger screams; pressure crumbles teams
Fuck being humble in the jungle where they fumble dreams! (whoo!)
Drugs for the living, Henny payment for the body (uh!)
Crosses for the power, ghetto for the smiley!
Pitbull; I bit my way out the cage - what's happening?
Competition got me on the Rampage, Jackson!
Part of my reaction to they corny ass raps (ya hear that?)
Keep flirting with death and get your horny ass clapped!
Back for more me, rat tat, kiss the ring, beat respect out 'em!
Bloody heads turn Timbalands to red bottoms!
50 bottles just a start, now that's how they do it.
Carbon fibre through the Spyder playin' rider music!
Ain't no question of my resume, I gotta prove it
Life's a bitch and I get blowjobs reclining through it.
[Thanks to Big TaMá$ for correcting these lyrics]
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