[Lloyd Banks]
  Man what the fuck are you lookin for?
  Can't a young nigga make money any more
  Blow a couple grand in the NBA Store
  Rock twenty-four thousand on the NBA floor
  Niggaz be on stage bendin over on tour
  Leave anti-social with a case of lochjaw
  Just cause shorty look good, don't mean that you should go
  puttin ice on the bitch like she won the Superbowl
  Even the chips are low, for all these so-called old heads
  Just ain't the same niggaz I used to know
  I got a Houston ho - nah she ain't the sharpest knife
  in the drawer but she a damn good booster though
  See I could fuck a supermodel with my {?} works
  Send her home with a smile and a couple kids on her shirt
  I got a year into the game
  A 141 rocks layin on my chain, geah!
  
  [Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
  Just another day, chillin in the hood
  Just another day around the way
  I'm tipsy off the Hennessy
  We ridin round with the H-K, nigga we don't play
  Just another day, chillin in the hood
  Just another day around the way
  We smoke a quarter pound a day
  G-Unit we here to stay, nigga we don't play
  
  [Lloyd Banks]
  Nevermind the lames in my era, they all want me dead
  And I know, it's all over the way I see bread
  Here I go, caught up in some he say/she said
  'Til I go, put a slug in my enemy's head
  The Tahoe's, bulletproof so you can't get through
  Then follow, your ass and whoever ran with you
  And you about as assed-out as two jammed pistols
  Bleedin around a bunch of niggaz who can't fix you
  So bring yours, cause you know I got mine with me kid
  The 8'll make you lose weight like Missy did
  The O.G.'s tryin to hide they phony smilin
  Reputation always arise in Coney Island
  I'm at your local newsstand jerk
  While the only XXL you been in as a shirt
  And, speakin of shirts, get a new white T
  God damn it feels good to be me - nigga!
  
  [Chorus]
  
  [Lloyd Banks]
  Now I'm goin, shoppin with a plastic card now
  I'm growin, knockin international broads down
  They know him, they're not gonna even pat the star down
  I'm holdin, a glock so don't even act that hard now
  You might bust your gun but your gat's in the car clown
  So break your lil' weed up and crack your cigars down
  Cause I ain't tryin to start my visits, with the fuckin judge
  givin niggaz life like it's parkin tickets
  Now I get to go to bed with a model
  And the crib is bout as big as it is on the Belvedere bottle
  I got all kind of ex' I could ram in they faces
  Red and blue pills like the man in The Matrix
  You might have spent some paper on your lil' charm but
  My piece is bout as heavy as Lil' Jon cup
  But, it's never tucked, nigga I don't give a fuck
  I'll get bucked 'fore I give somethin up, yup!
  
  [Chorus]
  
  [ad libs]