Armed Robbery
Posted: Sat Jul 24, 2010 6:04 pm
Time to face the facts that I’m addicted to Chase Manhattan/
Rocking a Nixon mask before “Point Break” was in fashion/
From the rich we subtracting to give to my faction/
Cash ain’t the passion, I live for the action/
It’s evident I assemble a four man crew like “Dead Presidents”/
Only we don’t get snitched out by no crooked reverend/
They need the money like medicine, cure disease with the Benjamins/
Slaving at a nine-to-five is straight shitty like some excrement/
We roll to the spot in a windowless white panel truck/
Our snubs tucked, walk in through the front, praying for luck/
Don’t want to play rough, tell the teller not to call my bluff/
Get to stuffing my duffel and don’t try no dye package stuff/
I’m doing bodily harm if the bitch trips the silent alarm/
Just fill my bag with hundred stacks and you’ll be alive in the morning/
A security guard goes for his firearm and busts five at my boy/
Troy busts back, this the type of shit we try to avoid/
And we’re out like MacGyver, headed toward the getaway driver/
Troy bleeding like a geyser, death stole my boy like a conniver/
We hear the sirens and peel out before their arrival/
Gun smoke behind us popping off like some fireworks/
And I hate to say it, but without Troy, money’s better cause it’s getting cut three ways, kid/
I dump the cash on the table and cats go for it like some freebase hits/
We all got expensive taste, so why save if you can waste it?/
Bury Troy in the basement, a week later Ferrari racing/
Pressure’s on the rise, from the DA and homicide/
But we got alibis and were too tight with the disguise/
They saw nothing but our eyes, too terrified to testify/
And maybe it’s unwise, but we’ll do another hit soon as the heat dies
I send a hundred grand to Troy’s wife cause I still got some moral fiber/
I would want someone to do the same for me, just in case your boy dies the next time, kid/
Rocking a Nixon mask before “Point Break” was in fashion/
From the rich we subtracting to give to my faction/
Cash ain’t the passion, I live for the action/
It’s evident I assemble a four man crew like “Dead Presidents”/
Only we don’t get snitched out by no crooked reverend/
They need the money like medicine, cure disease with the Benjamins/
Slaving at a nine-to-five is straight shitty like some excrement/
We roll to the spot in a windowless white panel truck/
Our snubs tucked, walk in through the front, praying for luck/
Don’t want to play rough, tell the teller not to call my bluff/
Get to stuffing my duffel and don’t try no dye package stuff/
I’m doing bodily harm if the bitch trips the silent alarm/
Just fill my bag with hundred stacks and you’ll be alive in the morning/
A security guard goes for his firearm and busts five at my boy/
Troy busts back, this the type of shit we try to avoid/
And we’re out like MacGyver, headed toward the getaway driver/
Troy bleeding like a geyser, death stole my boy like a conniver/
We hear the sirens and peel out before their arrival/
Gun smoke behind us popping off like some fireworks/
And I hate to say it, but without Troy, money’s better cause it’s getting cut three ways, kid/
I dump the cash on the table and cats go for it like some freebase hits/
We all got expensive taste, so why save if you can waste it?/
Bury Troy in the basement, a week later Ferrari racing/
Pressure’s on the rise, from the DA and homicide/
But we got alibis and were too tight with the disguise/
They saw nothing but our eyes, too terrified to testify/
And maybe it’s unwise, but we’ll do another hit soon as the heat dies
I send a hundred grand to Troy’s wife cause I still got some moral fiber/
I would want someone to do the same for me, just in case your boy dies the next time, kid/