Get Your Paper Lyrics - Master P

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. 

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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 

Photos 

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]