Master P f E-40

Get Your Paper

206 3 часа назад

Текст песни Master P f E-40 - Get Your Paper

Master P f E-40 - Get Your Paper слова песни

Master P: Ughhh! Ha ha!E-40: Oooo! Huh? P what’s up boy?MP: What’s up 40 boy?E-40: Talk to me weepilation.MP: Dey don’t know we been doin’ dis.E-40: Last Deezy, Last Don.MP: Bay Area playa nigga.E-40: This E-Feezy Fonzareezy, your weepilation up out the Yea Area all dayer’ytime. Like dis here. Element ofSurprise. Da Last Don, Charlie Hustle. Check it out.E-40:Let it be writ and said, done and publishedThat on the sixth month of June 1998E-40 Fonzarellie AKA Charlie HustleezyAnd my Third Ward weepilation From the No Limit Records Headquarters and congregationPlugged up and did a rumble together without no hesitation and erasedAny Old School classic memories of Northern CaliforniaGodzilla ballin’ and Bay stranglin’ and hustlin’Morning, night, day in N’OrleansAnd dang near fallin’ asleep on the freewayBobbin’ and weavin’ and ditchin’ and dodgin’ po-po, penelope forceTryin’ to convince ‘em that me and the dope game wasn’t gettin along any howWe had been went our separate ways Shit, we been had a divorce In and out of court, betta yetNeva was married any how and engagedPushed in the game at a young age, trapped in a ghetto cageWent from hardly any to, uh, plenty of cashTo, uh, high speed chases to, uh, makin’ a dash“Uh, excuse me sir can I have your autographAnd, uh, when your new album droppin’ fool That other shit was cool”(Chorus)E-40:Get your money man, get your paper Get your paper man, get your moneyGet your fettie or your scratch, get your skrillGet your revvies man, get paidGet your mail man, get your marblesGet your marbles man, get your mailGet your grits, get your chettah, get your chipsGet your snaps man, get paidMater P: Ughhh! Ball wit da real, hang wit da G’sStarted from Richmond, California to New OrleansGame won’t change, these niggas can’t fade meMama still pray for babyGhetto got me sick, dope fiends and crack headsNiggas on da front porch wit’ tech nines and “lemon heads”And all I want be is a soldierCause I’m tired of runnin’ from da rollasJumped in da rap game and now dey can’t hold usGhetto millionaires and still blowin’ dojaKeep my composure when times hecticNow I own a house in California, Orlando, and TexasAnd still run wit’ the thug niggasAnd made tapes for bitches and drug dealasAnd push 600 wit’ a bulletproofThe ghetto Bill GatesThe only president wit’ a gold tooth (Chorus)E-40:Uh, n-neva let your guards downAlways play defense neva offenseCause suckas a try to make your kindness for weakness And damn sho’ try to shake your hand up unda falsified pretensesSequence this Paint a portrait of these next eventsSee if you can predict what I was about to sayWithin the next couple of sentencesTechnically impossibleTo hard to callSee right when he thought I was gone throw a slider I threw him a knuckle ballBack against the wall, knockin’ niggas out (knockin’ niggas out)Hemmed up in da corner nigga thats what I’m aboutMaster P:Feel my pain, sometimes I feel trapped Nigga tired of hangin’ in the ghetto takin’ food stampsCause this street life got me crazy But I hustle cause I gotta feed a babyAnd only God can take meAnd ain’t no nigga in this hood gone play meSo when I ball I’m a ball ‘til I fizallAnd when I’m gone put my name on the wizall (Chorus)[Ad-libs until end]

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