Lyrics: G-Unit. Ready Or Not.

[Lloyd Banks]
My rope all freezy, dope on the TV
Ecstasy especially out the GT
You next to me, you best to be holdin somethin too
Least you can say, you let somethin fly when somethin flew
These niggaz get hit and call they lawyer
And try to sue you, that's a bitch nigga for ya
I'm tough like Mayoga, and De La Hoya, I saw ya
Man niggaz'll stack nines for that Cola
Cause zips in my shit, I don't grow stems
Him got 14 karats, carrots, and gold rims
Why say somethin about my name?
Don't jump out the window, it's safer jumpin out a plane
I can't ditch my bitch, it's somethin 'bout her brain
If she put her mind to it she could suck out a vein
You don't want a lead shower stay the fuck out the rain
There's so much ammo niggaz don't gotta aim

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
You don't get a warnin, there's no heads up when it's on
Here it comes, ready or not
Don't be out there snorin, one eye blink and you're gone
Keep it cocked - and ready to pop
The man makes no mistakes, it's been on since the day I was born
Stop drop, or get lead in your knot
I'm known in hip-hop, but I'm still ridin around with my chrome
Here it comes - ready or not

[Tony Yayo]
Yeah, yeah
My little shooter's 16 from the projects
Glock-16 with the Napoleon complex
I'm in and out the projects, my lifestyle pleasant
You? You live life like a barbaric peasant
Me without my gun in the streets is like a Muslim eatin pig feet
Fuck the pigs on the street
They all wanna off a nigga - and when these rappers
get shot they ain't gangsta, they turn into corporate niggaz
You die if it's rated R
If it's PG-13 you leave with a scar
R.I.P. to Troy and Bags, big shout to Hommo
They got fishin money cooked, buy me the Apollo
These model hoes swallow, I buy another bottle
of this M.O.B. nigga, that's my motto
These rappers ain't kings, they pawns
And got dust bunnies on they guns

[Chorus]

[Lloyd Banks]
I think God spent a lil' extra time on me
Pop planted a miracle seed my mom ain't see
I got a high intelligence level, I ain't no dummy
I ain't satisfied with 10 mil', that ain't no money
My talents are blood deep, you can't take those from me
And my sense of humor's shot, I don't take jokes funny
My paranoia rolls with my bullet holes
givin me a third eye, my foes can get a magazine full of those
The hip-hop cops follow my Suburban
Hopin they can find a pistol on him when they search him
I'm icier in person, they like me when I'm cursin
So here's a dirty version, you only heard me urban
If niggaz try to hurt him, the I-30's squirtin
Right through your curtain, don't stop 'til you murk him
Mechanical workin, Hechler handle's jerkin
That'll pull the Gate in after you Heavenly church him

[Chorus]