Songtext Get your paper Master P

Get your paper

Master P: Ughhh! Ha ha!

E-40: Oooo! Huh? P whatæ
Š¯ up boy?
M
P: What抯 up 40 boy?

E-40: Talk to me weepilation.
M
P: Dey donæ
Š° 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
Eræ
Š·time. 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 Næ‰
rleans
And dang near fallin?asleep on the freeway

Bobbin?and weavin?and ditchin?and dodgin?po-po, penelope force
Tryin'to convince æ…¹m that me and the dope game wasnæ
Š° 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
æ?¢h, 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抯
Started from Richmond, California to New Orleans
Game wonæ
Š° change, these niggas canæ
Š° fade me

Mama still pray for baby

Ghetto got me sick, dope fiends and crack heads

Niggas on da front porch witàtech nines and æ?‡emon heads?
And all I want be is a soldier

Cause I抦 tired of runnin?from da rollas

Jumped in da rap game and now dey canæ
Š° 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 witàthe thug niggas

And made tapes for bitches and drug dealas

And push 600 witàa bulletproof

The ghetto Bill Gates
The only president witàa 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 that's what I抦 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 ainæ
Š° no nigga in this hood gone play me

So when I ball I抦 a ball 憈il I fizall

And when I抦 gone put my name on the wizall

(Chorus)

[
Ad-libs until end]