Artist: Lloyd Banks Album: The Hunger for More Song: Playboy Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash [Verse One] Guess who's the man this winter, straight out the land of sinners The Range is tan with spinners, check out the white mirrors Blow with the damn winners while you and your man's finished Two in your Rams fitteds, turn off your lightswitch Holdin my torch down, even when the force 'round You let your wife roam, she want a divorce now You niggaz ain't this gully, play it I paint your skully You never take this from me the riders and all the gangsters love me You shouldn't be a problem, I ain't be a problem See you later I'll red your head, you'll be a Rodman I know your type, hoppin all over beat screamin You call it hypin yourself up, I call it street dreamin I do it for all the haters, the players roll with the gators They lookin forward to favors, gossip is all they gave us You niggaz wasn't quiet, meet the whales and the fishes You leak the precinct up, play tattletale with the snitches Even my momma knows, I got all kind of hoes They wait outside of shows strict after the diner close I'll get designer clothes, without the wine or rose Take off my baby blue mink, and Carolina vogues C'mere, take a look inside a entertainer's closet I never trust a bitch, I blame Lorena Bobbitt Niggaz stay in pocket, I know you're mad at me But shit ain't all peaches and cream, and I ain't Sara Lee Bitch! [Chorus] Don't ice me, you starin at the wrong one It's a lot of girls here, go and get a grown one We at the bar poppin bottles 'til they all gone If you ain't leavin here with us, you can walk home Cause someone else will, they know how we ride If you a playboy, you got one on the Eastside Keep your mouth closed, we don't let the beef ride .. (what) right .. (what) right .. (what) right .. (right, damn!) (Let's go) [Verse Two] I do this for the hood, niggaz stuck in the slammer I smile cause I'm good, you act tough for the camera Run from the lil' kids, they fuckin with Santa Cause they like 2Pac more - word? Word to my grandma I figure I might as well leave here with my glock drawn Cause they'll take to jail, even when you're not wrong Dawg you're not this flashy, jux you got to blast me Every rock is classy nobody on your block can match me You shouldn't want a fight, unless you want to fight for your life in the hospital a hundred nights I know your type, run behind your girl rushin You call it quality time, I call it handcuffin I'm on a beach in Miami, so you ain't reachin my family All weekend with panties from Puetro Rican Cammie You niggaz wasn't tough, I shoulda snapped two flicks You wore your pants tight, played pitty-pat with the chicks Even my father knows, where the revolver goes I bring the beef to your front door like dominoes And my diamonds froze, that mean my time is froze Me in the club from when it's poppin 'til the time it close Half of these so-called real niggaz'll probably sing Nah I ain't pullin over, learned that from Rodney King So tell your homey chill, you know I hold the steel Everything be jabs and hooks, and you ain't Holyfield Nigga! [Chorus] Everybody on the left get yo' hands up Everybody on the right get yo' hands up Everybody up front get yo' hands up And everybody out back get yo' hands up And if you in here with a strap get yo' hands up Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) ... man fuck what he said man, put 'em up! Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) Now put 'em up! (Put 'em up!) ... ohhh-OHH! Lloyd Banks, what? Oooooooooooooh!