MASTER P

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Get Your Paper Lyrics

Lyrics Font

Master P : Get Your Paper Lyrics

Songwriters: N/A

. Send "Get Your Paper" Ringtone to your Cell .

Master P: Ughhh! Ha ha!
E 40: Oooo! Huh? P whats up boy?
MP: Whats up 40 boy?
E 40: Talk to me weepilation.
MP: Dey dont 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 day
erytime. Like dis here. Element of
Surprise. Da Last Don Charlie Hustle. Check it out.
E 40:
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 NOrleans
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 wasnt 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
(Chorus)
E-40:
Get your money man, get your paper
Get your paper man, get your money
Get your fettie or your scratch, get your skrill
Get your revvies man, get paid
Get your mail man, get your marbles
Get your marbles man, get your mail
Get your grits, get your chettah, get your chips
Get your snaps man, get paid
Mater P:
Ughhh! Ball wit da real, hang wit da Gs
Started from Richmond, California to New Orleans
Game wont change, these niggas cant fade me
Mama still pray for baby
Ghetto got me sick, dope fiends and crack heads
Niggas on da front porch wit tech nines and lemon heads
And all I want be is a soldier
Cause Im tired of runnin from da rollas
Jumped in da rap game and now dey cant hold us
Ghetto millionaires and still blowin doja
Keep my composure when times hectic
Now I own a house in California, Orlando, and Texas
And still run wit the thug niggas
And made tapes for bitches and drug dealas
And push 600 wit a bulletproof
The ghetto Bill Gates
The only president wit a gold tooth
(Chorus)
E-40:
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
To 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 thats what Im about
Master P:
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 aint no nigga in this hood gone play me
So when I ball Im a ball til I fizall
And when Im gone put my name on the wizall
(Chorus)
[Ad-libs until end]