Lloyd Banks – Father Time Lyrics

Produced By: G Sparkz
PYONG!
0

You pyonged “Lloyd Banks – Father Time”

Save Note No Thanks
Follow
Caution: You are now annotating this song as

[Hook]
Yeah they see me moving
They gonna need to stop, drop
Off the face of Earth but, I'mma make it pop, hot
These niggas are not, now
Watch me take my spot
Got money got power and respect baby
I just hope times on my side
I've been trying all my life
Every block someones dying
Always high, here's our life, come inside

[Verse 1]
Energy's my ammunition, like AK shells
So think about that when you plan on dissing, go straight to hell

Bred to be balling since a baby kicking
I had the smell, brand new money ladies sniffing, they take a L
I take a shit on rappers all it's worth
Can't die over, must conquer the world first
Like a monster to media on my beautiful girls search
High and low I am no thing you tamper with
Made the plan you should cancel it, make examples I trample shit
Drop your hair I am cancerous, answer this, who can handle this?
Scandalous, I dismantle these ants and piss on a trucer
You think I seen the future, how I wham, quick recouper
Fire hand, wham turn a brand new man, big producer
Gift from heaven, living legend and I come from Queens
Robbing leggin' 3-5-7 in my fucking jeans
Suffering and fucked up schemes
Twin Bentleys matching beamers on a couple beams
Try my sentencing

[Hook]

[Verse 2]
Murdered half of y'all on my mixtapes
Come wrapped up in my wrath
Now I'm laughing look at your rib cage
Your ass been in a slump

Cum blasting all in your bitch face
Success is what they want
Tongue lashing will get your shit sprayed
Have it how you want, blood bath
I'm a sharpened switchblade
You'll be smiling for life
Love flashing I got the shit made

Forget where I'm at, now I passed 'em around the sixth grade
Passion for my profession outlast anyone you could name
Hood fame got me riding in wood grain
Look lame, Staten, Harlem to Brooklyn
They know I'm cooked 'caine took aim rappin would bang
I could change, but this sport ain't a good game
I'm strapping sir, back seat in the passenger, semi-auto massacre
Shopping while I laugh at you, rappers feed my appetite
Metaphors will tackle you, these niggas ain't half as nice
Playboy in my afterlife, real nigga with cash and ice
Drop the bread pass the dice, hope I crack twice

[Hook]

Edit song description to add:

  • Historical context: what album the song's on, how popular it was
  • An explanation of the song's overall story (example: "In this song, Eminem corresponds with a crazed fan who ends up...")
  • The sample used for the beat — use WhoSampled.com and wikipedia as references
Song lyrics have been changed by someone else. Copy your work to your clipboard and click here to reload.