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MASTER P
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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
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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
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