Lyrics: Lloyd Banks. Home Sweet Home.

[feat. Pusha T]

[Lloyd Banks:]
Yeah, 20 miles an hour in my long Bentely
Shame on you hater, this what the Lord sent me
Lately I've been practicing my gas face
Cause that's what I'm a give em when they land in last place
Hand right by the... they ain't too many seeing us
So they wanna take my gifts
But I wrap em with the [?]
My regular [?]
Currency and cashmere
You drove [?] your way, I told her she can crash here
Yeah I'm counting paper like the cashier
Living like I'm limited, breathing like it's my last air
My boy in and out the box, super stupid soldier
Told me if he could do it again he'd do it over
Poverty's king cobra, squeeze ya life out
Cause it's the fatalities and casualtes I should wirte 'bout
These rappers ain't iced out, they just fooling
Running round town fakers, zirconian cubic

[Chorus:]
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
Ya'll better have ya'll guns out
Cause where I'm from, there ain't no way around it
Home sweet home

[Pusha T:]
I'm a fucking rap til you blue in the face
You'll probably turn into smurfs with the time that you waste
Throughout 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 niggas broke the [?] reach
You only read about the cars that I paddle shift
You only dream about the [?] that I dabble with
Balcony views, postcard, imagine this
White stones, black steel cold chrome
This city's my doormat, them home sweet home

[Chorus]

[Lloyd Banks:]
See me where you see me
Always seen
Off the Queens magazines, pissy hallway scenes
Paying crowds, hunger screams, pressure crumbles teams
Fuck being humble in the jungle where they fumble dreams
Drugs for the living, Henny [?] for the body
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
Keep flirting with death and get your horny ass clapped
Back for more me, rat tat, kiss the ring, beat respect out them
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 bitcha need I get [?]

[Chorus]