"Land Of Opportunity" lyrics - LLOYD BANKS

LLOYD BANKS
"Land Of Opportunity"
feat. Styles P

[Intro: Miss Anthropy]
Desperate to be found
And blood stains all around
My stupid bust thought the lure would be enough
You ain't seen nothing yet

[Verse 1: Lloyd Banks]
I'm always planted, couldn't push me down a hill
I double numbers on up-and-comers, you rookies gotta chill
Broke a classic off sour power, it whoop me out a mill
Life's a bitch and still crowd around her, that pussy got a shield
Pack an island on half my talent, your calendar is clear
Black medallion I'm back to stylin', imbalance your career
Nigga, miss me by the argument, left that in my 20's
100's and 50's all I bargain with, still baggin' up money, dummy
I'm stereo trips
Name me your guardian, superior wrist
Play me you'll starve again, Canary the fist
Raise me a problem, don't compare me to shit
Came from the bottom, bodies there on the strip
Brand me a column, probably here I'ma quit
Grammy asylum, bottom tears on my shit
Candy in Harlem, rocket flares on my whip
The profit handlin' clique
You out here scammin' a trick
You sneaky thievin', chop your hand you get slick
Then rock you sleepy, drop the bands on your fit

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
You getting to it, you don't talk about it
The trouble comes it ain't no walk around it
Why you think the morgue is crowded?
Don't get your body chalk around it
How in the land of opportunity, when niggas tryna' ruin me?
Don't make us type your eulogy
Class in session, pay your student fee
They eyein' all your jewelry
What your problems got to do with me?
You baggin', I ain't heard a thing, money hollers usually

[Verse 2: Styles P]
Yeah, back at it with banks
Reverse camera on, I back out of the bank
No withdrawals, just depositing
I ain't get this plug on Twitter, but I'ma follow 'em
And what your problems got to do with me? (WHAT?)
And why the fuck you screwing me?
I kill 'em then, go on read his eulogy
I got beef, I don't talk about it (Shhh!)
Put the hawk up in 'em, spin 'it, pull the hawk up out 'em
Pull the whip on the strip, niggas'll gawk about her
Never stick your dick in a chick and bitch'll squawk about it
Why these bitches wanna ruin me?
Probably 'cause I'm speaking money fluently (I speak money)
And this the land of opportunity
I told Banks I get G's by the unit, B
All I need is Yayo, ain't nothing they can do with me

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
You getting to it, you don't talk about it
The trouble comes it ain't no walk around it
Why you think the morgue is crowded?
Don't get your body chalk around it
How in the land of opportunity, when niggas tryna' ruin me?
Don't make us type your eulogy
Class in session, pay your student fee
They eyein' all your jewelry
What your problems got to do with me?
You baggin', I ain't heard a thing, money hollers usually

[Verse 3: Lloyd Banks]
Nothing reminds me of the grimy, time to call the quits
As soon as I fix 'em, bend off revenge, alcoholic twitch
Popular kid went sloppy, handin off enormous bricks
Invitation and forces missed followed by performance slips
Uh, New York diesel and California flips
The figures transformin', destiny's callin' your normal piss
Stompin' the standards I set, skippin' the portal list
20 fucking years on the set, ditchin' the spoiled bitch
Stuck on a new beginnin', my fucks in that toolie spinnin'
Line up with the rule of the willing
Die tough and the movie ending
Bendin' these corners with the piece out, you panickin', uh
Play with the money, knock 20 teeth out your camera grin
Breaking the borders, all the channelin'
I promised my conscience I'll be the man again
And shock you out your ambien
Impostors die, the family wins, I'm pocket-sizin' champions
Rock-a-bye'n panties and the bopper slide the hammers in

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
You getting to it, you don't talk about it
The trouble comes it ain't no walk around it
Why you think the morgue is crowded?
Don't get your body chalk around it
How in the land of opportunity, when niggas tryna' ruin me?
Don't make us type your eulogy
Class in session, pay your student fee
They eyein' all your jewelry
What your problems got to do with me?
You baggin', I ain't heard a thing, money hollers usually