Get Your Paper - Master P

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.

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»

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

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