Get Your Paper Lyrics by Master P

Get Your Paper Lyrics

    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 day
    Er’ytime. 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 n’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?
    (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 g’s
    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 wit?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
    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 i’m 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 ain’t no nigga in this hood gone play me
    So when i ball i’m a ball ‘til i fizall
    And when i’m gone put my name on the wizall

    (chorus)

    [ad-libs until end]

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