Banks Meets Payne Lyrics

[Intro: RJ Payne]
These niggas is dead
It's Payne
Lloyd Banks in this motherf*cker?
Watch this (C-C-Cartune)

[Verse 1: RJ Payne]
We did a lot more than heat up the game, I feel we flammable
Empty the clip like, "Keep the change, you filthy animal"
They built a cannibal, tell the killers come chill with Hannibal
So much metal stuck in my hands, it feel mechanical
The wrath of Satan, decapitation and lacerations
The burner shake, could turn Murda Mase into Pastor Mason
These rappers hatin', I ain't movin' a inch
Stupid, this is a shootin' star, superhuman event
Cocaína, they think a nigga come from Cuban descent
Itchy triggеr finger, don't make me shoot at you in dеfense
I got a beautiful strength; pistol whip your face multiple colors
Somewhere between a Rubik's Cube and a pimp
I'll sit your crew on the bench; don't make me drop 'em at once
Last rapper that tried to box, I had to knock out his fronts
I'm only stoppin' for lunch, I'm still punchin' the clock
Your boy home, Roy Jones, you niggas must've forgot
It's Payne
[Verse 2: Lloyd Banks]
Uh
Ripped out my patient coat, a few screws loose
I'm a schizo rappin', no compassion, you need two Juice Crews and you get some action
Don't be awkward passin', [?] deuce-deuce
If it gets too packed in, hippo snappin', I abuse loose coupes that'll fit the fashion
Peep the clip attachment; never been good with the tit-for-tattin'
Lettin' disrespectful words out your mouth 'til I kick 'em back in Picture snappin', catchin' my old self, different dimensions clashin'
Paranormal gifts, the bars lift, get the suspension crackin'
Drops I supersede; you can breathe air? Then you can bleed
[?] 'em up, I want all the smoke: base, nicotine, hookah, weed
Top of my game again, in tip-top, top of the [?]
Pile of M60s when my shit drop, rockets, bazookas [?]
I get shit off and move the keys; cheese, smiles at these stupid fees
Deep crowds when I pop to Queens
Freestyles [?]
Three-thousand, I've dropped emcees
Weed mounds and my profit schemes
Made a reality of dreams: deep pockets and blocks to lean

[Verse 3: RJ Payne]
Yeah
I'll chop your team right into pieces, that ain't no shockin' thing
The chopper ring loud on these bitches, sound like a slot machine
Drop a beam, clip got a curve on it like Jocelyn
I'm wicked - shit, I get paid to kick it like it's a soccer team
I got the green, roll a little leaf and get high
Bars feel like you sittin' on a beach in Dubai
This more heat than July
Everybody think they funny tellin' jokes, 'til they tell you that comedian die
See, I ain't tryna raise the bar, I weightlift
See, ain't nobody made like the God, I shapeshift
Day shift; work like a slave, I don't say shit
It sound berserk - I came down to Earth in a spaceship
Look, E.T. back, the GT black, peep these facts
Clip long as f*ck, look like a f*ckin' CD rack
I got a heart that's Adebisi black
They talk shit behind me 'til I show 'em just how far the seat reach back
Payne

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