Gilmore's Lyrics - Rotten Apple - Lloyd Banks

Gilmore's" 

Yea, Whoooooooooooooooooo 

You niggas know what time it is 

Its time for that gangsta shit 

[Chorus] 

We aint got shit to live for 

Your either headed for the pen or your on your way to Gilmore 

In the middle of the real war 

Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for 

I make million out yeah 

I dont care about a muthaphuka out there 

My heart cold and my wrist rock 

You could fuck around and die over Hip Hop 

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[Verse 1] 

I treat a dollar like a mill, countin every bill 

Cuz if i dont watch mine another muthaphuka will 

I went double but i still tuck the steel 

Im the truth, why the fuck you think 50 cut the deal 

Rollin in a bag of D when you cut the seal 

When i bling the paint job on a Coupe De Ville 

I aint never had a pop. poppa never had a son 

Nobody to go get, so i aint never run 

They chat behind my back but they quiet when i come 

They treat a lil nigga like a giant with a gun 

I walk with a swagger like i always had money 

Cuz i know, they rather see my black ass bummy 

Aint nuthin funny just a whole lotta anger 

Mind of a leader, drama of a gangbanger 

If a nigga come on property i aint gonna call 

There'll be a splatter on ya shirt, and it aint paintball 

Photos 

[Chorus] 

We aint got shit to live for 

Your either headed for the pen or your on your way to Gilmore 

In the middle of the real war 

Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for 

I make million out yeah 

I dont care about a muthaphuka out there 

My heart cold and my wrist rock 

You could fuck around and die over Hip Hop 

[Verse 2] 

I dont follow no rules im gettin in here with the town 

And if i dont, we gonn' burn this muthaphuka down 

Im comin thru swingin like they do in H-Town 

And i roll down the window and spin ya bitch face around 

Im a stunna, hoggin up the lane like the Hummer 

Till the wheel run dry like the rain in the summer 

Even the broke nigga cant afford to go to sleep 

Fuck around and get ya head popped all over the street 

And i aint got nuthin for em but the heat 

My lil brother want jewelry and Jordans on his feet 

Now, they recognize if ya slaughterin the beat 

And if it wasnt for rappin, I'd have ya daughter on the street 

I been the same since Kane and Slick Rick had it 

Now niggas die in the car, my whole whip had it 

I worked too hard to let a nigga have it 

So i pack the Automatic for the sideline static, Yea! 

[Chorus] 

We aint got shit to live for 

Your either headed for the pen or your on your way to Gilmore 

In the middle of the real war 

Cause a five dollar bill is the shit niggas kill for 

I make million out yeah 

I dont care about a muthaphuka out there 

My heart cold and my wrist rock 

You could fuck around and die over Hip Hop