- 歌词
- 专辑列表
- 歌手介绍
MASTER P
-
Get Your Paper
Ugh, ha ha, ooo, huh? P, what's up boy? What's up, 40 boy? Talk to me weepilation, dey don't know we been doin' dis Last Deezy, Last Don, bay area playa, nigga This E Feezy Fonzareezy your weepilation Up out the Yea Area all day, every time, like dis here Element of surprise, Da Last Don Charlie Hustle, check it out
Let it be, writ and said, done and published That on the sixth month of June 1998 E-40 Fonzarellie AKA Charlie Hustleezy And my Third Ward weepilation
From the No Limit Records headquarters and congregation Plugged up and did a rumble together without no hesitation And erased any Old School classic memories of Northern California
Godzilla ballin' and Bay stranglin' and hustlin' Morning, night, day in New Orleans And dang near fallin' asleep on the freeway Bobbin' and weavin' and ditchin' and dodgin' po-po, penelope force Tryin' to convince 'em that me and the dope game Wasn't gettin' along any how
We had been went our separate ways Shit, we been had a divorce In and out of court, betta yet Neva was married any how and engaged
Pushed in the game at a young age, trapped in a ghetto cage Went from hardly any to, uh, plenty of cash To, uh, high speed chases to, uh, makin' a dash Uh, excuse me sir, can I have your autograph And, uh, when your new album droppin' fool That other shit was cool
Get your money, man, get your paper Get your paper, man, get your money Get your fettie or your scratch, get your skill Get your revives, man, get paid
Get your mail, man, get your marbles Get your marbles, man, get your mail Get your grits, get your cheetah, get your chips Get your snaps, man, get paid
Ughh, Ball with da real, hang with da Gs Started from Richmond, California to New Orleans Game won't change, these niggas can't fade me Mama still pray for baby
Ghetto got me sick, dope fiends and crack heads Niggas on da front porch with tech nines and lemon heads And all I want be is a soldier 'Cause I'm tired of runnin' from da rollas
Jumped in da rap game and now dey can't hold us Ghetto millionaires and still blowin' doja 更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网 Keep my composure when times hectic Now I own a house in California, Orlando and Texas And still run with the thug, niggas
And made tapes for bitches and drug dealas And push 600 with a bulletproof The ghetto, Bill Gates The only president wit a gold tooth
Get your money, man, get your paper Get your paper, man, get your money Get your fettie or your scratch, get your skill Get your revives, man, get paid
Get your mail, man, get your marbles Get your marbles, man, get your mail Get your grits, get your cheetah, get your chips Get your snaps, man, get paid
Uh, n-neva let your guards down Always play defense neva offense 'Cause suckas a try to make your kindness for weakness And damn sho' try to shake your hand up unda falsified pretenses Sequence this
Paint a portrait of these next events See if you can predict what I was about to say Within the next couple of sentences Technically impossible, too hard to call
See right when he thought I was gone throw a slider I threw him a knuckle ball Back against the wall, knockin' niggas out (Knockin' niggas out) Hemmed up in da corner, nigga, that's what I'm about
Feel my pain, sometimes I feel trapped Nigga tired of hangin' in the ghetto takin' food stamps 'Cause this street life got me crazy But I hustle 'cause I gotta feed a baby And only God can take me
And ain't no nigga in this hood gone play me So when I ball I'm a ball till I fizall And when I'm gone put my name on the wizall
Get your money, man, get your paper Get your paper, man, get your money Get your fettie or your scratch, get your skill Get your revives, man, get paid
Get your mail, man, get your marbles Get your marbles, man, get your mail Get your grits, get your cheetah, get your chips Get your snaps, man, get paid
-
|