Styles P - We Don't Play Lyrics (feat. Lloyd Banks)

Styles P – We Don’t Play Lyrics (feat. Lloyd Banks) 

[Styles P]
Do the same thing, get the same results
You creepin like Batman, stronger than The Hulk
Runnin to the bank teller, dump it for the vault
On my (Town) shit, Ben Affleck, whole nigga cause
most men just half-step, I ride hard
Motherfucker and I ain’t crash yet – you don’t know
Or you do know, I’m like Mario Puzo
with Cujo – you don’t get it?
I’m a prolific animal, every verse flammable
Weird like Murdoch, thinkin like Hannibal
Man like Face but I’m wild like B.A.
Bullet to your head when you talkin to the D.A.
Talkin to the judge, and I be in the cab
Cause I think the car bugged, I don’t play with hard luck
Killin your homeboy, now you call it hard love
Treat you like a blunt how I’m gettin you sparked up

[Chorus: Lloyd Banks]
Nigga we don’t play~! We handle problems the worst way
We’ll get you shot stabbed robbed on your birthday
Nigga you ain’t got no business ’round here in the first place
Look at everybody chillin – well fuck that!
I’ma play the villain – fuck that! I’m here to make a killin
All money’s good money, weed and liquor stealin
Small money, tall money, nigga we want it all
Left hand on the wheel, other hand on the drawer

[Lloyd Banks]
Nino icepick through your writing hand
Heart like a rock, hard to drop like Spider-Man
Park your pretty cars up, hop inside the rider van
Punctuate your lung for a couple hundred dollar stand
Drive of a street lord, knowledge of a college man
Almighty dollars get you dead, make your momma plan
Nuttin like the sound of dough, I’ma make the commas dance
Numbers jump high numb and drunk in my drama stance
The no fly zone, you don’t get a city chance
Show up at your show, make you hoes piss your skinny pants
I’m with Sammy so my haters can’t stand me or jam me
I’m runnin niggaz over like Brandy
Motherfuck a Grammy, give me weed and eye candy
Coca-Cola daughter, pussy from a very nice family
Won’t last steppin in the street without the swammy
From Southside to Y.O., niggaz die daily

[Chorus]

[Styles P]
I’m hard and the problem like algebra
Only use the gun if it’s a high enough caliber
You ain’t a (Dodge) car then you ain’t no (Challenger)
Play wit’cha life nigga but you ain’t no gambler
Die any day of the week, go get a calendar
Harder than Russian roulette, nigga fuck a Gilette
I take a gun and put a (Buck) to your neck
or +50+ to your grill, bring the blicky to the hill
These young niggaz is buggin, tipsy off the pills
I bring the fire like a motherfuckin Bic lighter
Paper shredder eraser to any sick writer
Ghost is Apocalypse, holdin your esophagus
Runnin through the shit like a motherfuckin rhinoceros
Nasty like a hippo is, show you what a sicko is
Barrel to your girl clit, bitch is you ticklish?
You gon’ fuck around and get, burned like syphilis

[Chorus]

[Styles P – We Don’t Play Lyrics (feat. Lloyd Banks)]