Land of Opportunity Lloyd Banks (Ft. Styles P)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Land of Opportunity" by Lloyd Banks (Ft. Styles P). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[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
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
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