Propane - Lloyd Banks

Yeah

Banks

COTI…

Hundred dollar bills for sit-up drills, my benji' reps

Ignorant, and I don’t give two fucks with Fendi F’s

Learning by habit, consistency made the memory stretch

Turn you to an addict, your lady will kiss the Bentley chest

Dig your way out the ground or spend a century stressed

I get you stomped off some 'ority, shouldn’t tempt the vets

Uh, playa haters make my temper flex

20 years of pushing this pen, an instrumental threat

Death to haters, can’t even be here in spirit

Kill a nigga, set up his GoFundMe and steal it

Designer chronic, pockets reeking out the air vent

I can show you where to buy this shit, can’t teach you how to wear it

It’s a waste going back and forth, success will really kill 'em

Balling like Russell Westbrook, Bill or Wilson

Give me rappers, I’ma kill some, mumblers on my jacket

Drop the remains in traffic, club him like I’m barbaric

Star addicts

Nothing is the same

These niggas don’t deserve to rock, run 'em out the game

They love it when we serve the block, this is cocaine

The temperature is falling and this shit ain’t gon' change

Nigga drive safely, swerving out of lane

The pain is strong enough to make a nigga go insane

We just want the money, y’all can have the fame

Promise I’ll remain, put it my chain, propane

Uh, dumb is justification, is it working, does it keep it fast?

Everybody just can’t be hating, my nigga you just trash

Ass kissers dropping to knees, you need the Ewing pads

I ain’t seen you niggas since teens, still hope you doing bad

Country of the Serpant, y’all all in bed with the snake

Black fitted reads: «When was America great?»

In the bootleg era, left competition dead on a tape

Kryptonite to super save a hoe, infrared on your cape

Shit, I’m lying?

Get me amputated, cradled to the casket, homie

Nothing 'bout me animated, I only use the cash emoji

Everybody make mistakes, let nothing out past control me

Married to the motherfucking game, frozen matrimony

Hate when they compare me to niggas, never been even, son

Hammer to a hand grenade, cannon to a BB-Gun

Pussy talking slick about me, who you think was feeding them?

I pull up on you all four quarters, let the meter run

Nothing is the same

These niggas don’t deserve to rock, run 'em out the game

They love it when we serve the block, this is cocaine

The temperature is falling and this shit ain’t gon' change

Nigga drive safely, swerving out of lane

The pain is strong enough to make a nigga go insane

We just want the money, y’all can have the fame

Promise I’ll remain, put it my chain, propane