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Artist: Lloyd Banks f/ Mobb Deep
Album:  Rotten Apple
Song:   Get Clapped
Typed by:

[Lloyd Banks] + (Havoc)
Front on me and get (clapped) front on him and get (clapped)
Front on us and get (clapped) you get clapped nigga

[Prodigy] + (Havoc)
Front on me and get (clapped) front on him and get (clapped)
Front on us and get (clapped) get clapped, get clapped

[Chorus: Havoc]
My niggaz feel different, cause everything is good
They actin like I changed, like I went Hollywood
Like I don't keep it street, like I ain't got the heat
Like I ain't homicide, all over the beat
Like I ain't full of beef, like I don't really care
Cause I ain't camera shy, we can do it anywhere
It's diamonds in my chain, it's diamonds in my ear
A nigga come up slippin, I'll make him disappear

[Lloyd Banks]
Uhh, hey nigga
Fuck all the slick talk, get bread instead
Stay low, strap up, metal on, inf' red
Too smooth, won't slip, new jewels, don't trip
Been around the world twice, jet Leer, boat whip
Oh shit, I'm hella rowdy and I'm nuttin nice
Money ain't shit but a number, name your fuckin price
Dick rider, coat tailor, ass kisser
Sucker for love, type to pick up the glass slipper
Look around ask nigga, before you add liquor
Cause bein a ad-libber to be in a bag wit'cha
I'm seein the bad picture of bein a cab skipper
Broke as fuck, waitin for Satan to come and get'cha
Keep your clique tight, know your goals, don't speed, slow ya roll
Don't speak, learn the codes - 'fore they pop ya ass
Barbecue your body with beans out of the shottie
While I'm in the Maserati with somethin that's gon' slob me

[Chorus] w/ ad libs

Yea... my trigger finger is feenin, the nigga up here is a demon
Nigga my fangs start showin if I'm seein you dreamin
Get too close and I'm bustin, it won't be no discussion
I'm a boss I don't speak - I just nod my head
And you turned up missin with your own page in the feds
I got power, and I will flex on you real quick
Call yo' dogs, call yo' clique, hug yo' moms 'fore you split
Cause you ain't never gon' see that bitch again
And this ain't a war nigga we just havin fun wit'cha
Like a bib wit a baby, if I smack you I might kill ya
Half a million in diamonds, half a bid from rhymin
And I'm steady and climbin - that mean I'm still blowin up
Got you burn while you lookin, see my Ferrari in Brooklyn
On the corner, I'm murderin through, so come through
I light yo' buildin on fire, it's why these rappers retire
Cause they tired, of dealin with the niggaz like me

[Chorus] w/ ad libs

[Lloyd Banks]
Yeah, now enough 'bout all the lame shit, them wrestlin games kid
I need the rocks to fill the rest of the chain with
I need the block to fill up best that I came with
I need the cops to get the fuck off my dick
Different day, same shit, media and paparazzi love
envy and betrayal, my heart's cold as hockey gloves
I light it up and take off that beef and broccoli high
Chocolate thai, green skunk; South Jamaica, Queens punk
Stand up ya boy's back, put your grams up, get money
You ain't heard nuttin but a hit from me
Quit dummy, cause it's the changin of the guards
Beat bitches over their head, the caveman of the squad
And he barely fall victim cause they raised him up so hard
So my nine is on my hip, and my praises up to God
Cause we in a battlefield, where the razors lead to scars
And the lasers need to hold slugs in and out your clothes

[Chorus] w/ ad libs

[Lloyd Banks]
Yeahhhhhh, yeahhhhhh
Yeahhhhhh, yeah!
Aiyyo P, fuck these niggaz man
I'll buck these niggaz man
Ain't nobody else gettin no money, this is our year
Next year, is our year
The year after is our year
The year after is our year
YEAH!  G-G-G-G-G G-Unit!