Things Change - Spider Loc, 50 Cent, Lloyd Banks

Nigga things, change, never stay the same

Now watch me come up, I hustle, I hustle even harder

I put that work in to win, no problem

All money ain’t good money, this I know

But I still love hood money, I gets my dough

And as a youngster, a nigga went to so much church

And still turned out fucked up, I did so much dirt

Chose to bang the neighborhood, I put in so much work

Did a whole lot of time, caused mom so much hurt

On everythang, that boy wasn’t gunned on purpose

Who knew that all my darkness was really gon' surface

I was stuck on that bullshit, just runnin the streets

Without some type of beef the week wasn’t complete

It’s like a nigga feel better after dumpin his heat

On feet, just to see that body slumped in the seat

Was like a whole nother rush to me, bustin was sweet

Now I’m smarter, I’m all about somethin to eat

I’m on the road, spend 30 days a month in a suite

But I’m still gon' hustle and cheat, let’s go

Yeah, uhh, now walkin down the block without’cha weapon

Is a first class ticket to a lesson

I thirst cash, kick it to perfection, me and Ben got a connection

That’s why I bring the Benz to impress him

Heart in my zone, all alone homes rattle in my bones

Cause he yappin off his lips and if I hit him I’ll be wrong

Cause he ain’t never gon' be shit, and I done worked so hard

But I will make you a corn on the cob, you’ll be performin for God

Either that or rob you on your boulevard

Bet you never thought for a second niggas’d pull your card God

I’m on my job, scarred since my nigga gone

HP tatted on me so his memory lives on

Engagin in drama without your bomber’ll

Be funeral arrangements for your mama

I learned that when I was in pajamas watchin Michael and Madonna

Now I got the appetite of a pirahna, nigga

What nobody knows, all the roads you go through

You can’t even talk to those that supposedly know you

Some of the levels that these people’ll go to for crumbs

Damn, tell me, is this what that dough do?

That’s when you find yourself talkin to Pro Tools

There’s not too many that ever walked in the Loc shoes

Or tell the tale that my heart contains

I explain, so many different parts of pain

I’m clean, but still some marks remain

From the past, when that kush weed sparks the brain

The cash made some people start to change

I feel hate when I pulled up and parked the Range

Your damn right I got rich, but my heart the same

And practice makes perfect with the art of aim

You ain’t really got the heart to bang

You ain’t start to hang, 'til you found out I caught the chain