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Lloyd Banks - Sooner Or Later Lyrics



Lloyd Banks - Sooner Or Later Lyrics




[Intro: Female Sample]
I knooow that - sooooner (sooooner!) or laaater (or laaaaateeeeeer!)
I'm going - to meet my - makeeeeer.

[Lloyd Bank$:]
I never thought that in the beginning, I would see his fall in the end
Pay a man to paint pictures on the wall of my friends.
1990's sins, it was all for tha ends
Ends for tha rims, Rims for tha Benz, Benz for tha skins.
'Fore you talk 'bout money - make a mil' first
You don't dig me, sick me, either kill me or get killed worse!
Your songs in need of a real verse
Son of the man, God feel me like he feel church!
Then right after speech time - it's sparkin' the street crime
Niggaz throwin' everything at you. - 'Cept a peace sign.
Live by the gun, die by the gun
Till' my time come, I'm a spend time witcha son.
I could just see them sad, when they remind you of them
Them woulda did the same thing. - We confined to the slum.
And those that don't adapt, they either blind deaf or dumb
Spine of a squirrel, mind of a girl; set to run!

[Chorus: Lloyd Bank$ {Female Sample} (Raekwon)]
{I knooow that} Why run nigga? {sooooner, sooooner!}
It's gon' cost, it's gon' come, nigga. {or laaater, or laaaaateeeeeer!}
But till' the day it does (yeah!) {I'm going} - I'm' hold my shit down, {to meet my - makeeeeer.}
Take it in blood. (yeah! whattup?) - Outsiders get no love. {Oooooohhhhhhhhhh!}

[Raekwon:]
Fishin' in a swamp in a desert, Lizard sweater
Half a billy a five, 2 Mack's in da ride.
They call him "Coke-Komo", co-signed by kings in the rich homo,
Made me 3 mil' in a month. - Pockets mumped! (yeah!)
Ferrari still by tha projects buildin', real dot Tec I'll
They dumb out with' uzi's and wheels yo! (it's what's goin' on!)
Steak'll take meetings, beefin' too much dough, the legion! (ayo, yo, yo!)
Bat in my hand, the sweet Eastern.
Losin' money fellas, we won't have that, better grab that! (get that shit, man!)
Or don't come back, or get clap at!
Me and my bitches in tha kitchen (yeah!)
One sucking dick, I paid to have shot and sent to the Brinxton. (break that!)
Dogs eatin' calamari, coke in a Larrari's jar
Never broke, hardly rob, eat with the godly's God. (ayo, yo, yo!)
Get with the gods or get with the mob
From Shalom to Queens. - We wild with the beams!

[Chorus]

[Lloyd Bank$:]
Don't blame me, blame SouthSide! (uhh!) That's what made me my
Crazy high; but I'll spot a traitor out my lazy eye.
Ladies spy. - I'm the one you wanna have that baby by
Maybe I'm - better of alone; keeps me in my zone!
Nights roam, white patron, GT in my chrome
Alien phone home, E.T. in my throne.
I achieved what they wanted. - Ease into they stomach!
When you broke time slow - but ya weeks are numbered
And bad news keeps you weak and numb.
Like when I lost my old man; damn! Near threw up the whole weekend, son.
I shoulda listened, friends turned foe, the toast so
The.4-4'll make a nigga run like Ocho!
Cinco on my mink hoe, I'm the protégé of pimpin'
Livin' for the slippin', now that they rolled away to Clinton.
Marijuana shippin', Champagne lobster shrimpin'
Game trained not to listen; maintain pop the clip in!

[Chorus]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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[Intro: Female Sample]
I knooow that - sooooner (sooooner!) or laaater (or laaaaateeeeeer!)
I'm going - to meet my - makeeeeer.

[Lloyd Bank$:]
I never thought that in the beginning, I would see his fall in the end
Pay a man to paint pictures on the wall of my friends.
1990's sins, it was all for tha ends
Ends for tha rims, Rims for tha Benz, Benz for tha skins.
'Fore you talk 'bout money - make a mil' first
You don't dig me, sick me, either kill me or get killed worse!
Your songs in need of a real verse
Son of the man, God feel me like he feel church!
Then right after speech time - it's sparkin' the street crime
Niggaz throwin' everything at you. - 'Cept a peace sign.
Live by the gun, die by the gun
Till' my time come, I'm a spend time witcha son.
I could just see them sad, when they remind you of them
Them woulda did the same thing. - We confined to the slum.
And those that don't adapt, they either blind deaf or dumb
Spine of a squirrel, mind of a girl; set to run!

[Chorus: Lloyd Bank$ {Female Sample} (Raekwon)]
{I knooow that} Why run nigga? {sooooner, sooooner!}
It's gon' cost, it's gon' come, nigga. {or laaater, or laaaaateeeeeer!}
But till' the day it does (yeah!) {I'm going} - I'm' hold my shit down, {to meet my - makeeeeer.}
Take it in blood. (yeah! whattup?) - Outsiders get no love. {Oooooohhhhhhhhhh!}

[Raekwon:]
Fishin' in a swamp in a desert, Lizard sweater
Half a billy a five, 2 Mack's in da ride.
They call him "Coke-Komo", co-signed by kings in the rich homo,
Made me 3 mil' in a month. - Pockets mumped! (yeah!)
Ferrari still by tha projects buildin', real dot Tec I'll
They dumb out with' uzi's and wheels yo! (it's what's goin' on!)
Steak'll take meetings, beefin' too much dough, the legion! (ayo, yo, yo!)
Bat in my hand, the sweet Eastern.
Losin' money fellas, we won't have that, better grab that! (get that shit, man!)
Or don't come back, or get clap at!
Me and my bitches in tha kitchen (yeah!)
One sucking dick, I paid to have shot and sent to the Brinxton. (break that!)
Dogs eatin' calamari, coke in a Larrari's jar
Never broke, hardly rob, eat with the godly's God. (ayo, yo, yo!)
Get with the gods or get with the mob
From Shalom to Queens. - We wild with the beams!

[Chorus]

[Lloyd Bank$:]
Don't blame me, blame SouthSide! (uhh!) That's what made me my
Crazy high; but I'll spot a traitor out my lazy eye.
Ladies spy. - I'm the one you wanna have that baby by
Maybe I'm - better of alone; keeps me in my zone!
Nights roam, white patron, GT in my chrome
Alien phone home, E.T. in my throne.
I achieved what they wanted. - Ease into they stomach!
When you broke time slow - but ya weeks are numbered
And bad news keeps you weak and numb.
Like when I lost my old man; damn! Near threw up the whole weekend, son.
I shoulda listened, friends turned foe, the toast so
The.4-4'll make a nigga run like Ocho!
Cinco on my mink hoe, I'm the protégé of pimpin'
Livin' for the slippin', now that they rolled away to Clinton.
Marijuana shippin', Champagne lobster shrimpin'
Game trained not to listen; maintain pop the clip in!

[Chorus]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: ADAM FEENEY, COREY WOODS, LLOYD CHARLES
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Memory Lane Music Group (Domestic)

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