Get Up (feat. Mariel Jacoda)
clipping.
Game don't wait (heavy. wait.)
Eyes heavy, but it's time to grind motherfucker can't be late (hold up. wait.)
Fuck a nine-to-five, push work state to state (shit)
No work, no food still eatin' off paper plates
Banana clip is a paper weight, paper mate
Tally how you're married to the game
She fuckin' everybody but you still put a ring on it, on it
Keep it one hunnit, homies
Home is where the homies
Home is where the homies got your back
Get your backpack get
Back to the block, bring it back to the block, shit
Slangin' crack beats cracks into [?]
But the Glock cocked back, lay another body flat
Here when they turn on the street lights
Hustle till they cut em' off, that's the street life
Got the chrome on my hip and a bud for sale
That's how I get mine, that's how I get it
Hustlin' is a habit
So they say
This is for the G's who wasn't trippin' and never knew any other way
Other ways of gettin' money, not many do not require a degree of separation
From the streets you gettin' paid in
In which the degree of difficulty is extraordinarily high
And she high while doin' it, so see why
Somebody who isn't from it might not understand how you body a body in other words
(I'd like to just kill a man)
And still a gram is a gram and nobody is Instagramin'
They killin' on Cypress Hill and they still is squeezin' the hammers
Police is beyond the scanners, these sum of sequius bandits
And brandish [?] function
You fuck a [?] fashion that flash on a motherfucker
You fuckin' seeing the passion forgetting the hunger
This the jungle, time to get active and crack it so acrobatic it'll flip in the set
But set's up and no second guessing here in the street people sweating for the money
Here when they turn on the street lights
Hustle till they cut em' off, that's the street life
Got the chrome on my hip and a bud for sale
That's how I get mine, that's how I get it
No time for wifey's babies or other collateral damage
Checking for snitches, they be the ones order tacos in Spanish
Always thinking that they blendin' in
But then sending them telegrams to the rollers; they bitches
Not meaning meaning - fuck it, ain't no explaining
Get the fuck up and push cocaine
All these fuckers gon' sleep all day
But if you suck up [?] one of these bucks
[?] if you lacing up them chucks no Taylor Gangin'
This shit is grimy and dirty, clothes stankin' while you slangin'
Get up out to the blacktop
Backpack for the crack rock
Take [?] the cops at a spot where they knock a neighborhood watch
Watch him
Learn the code if them eyes are closed
That means he sleeping on his feet and been out in the cold
And if he flashin' the gold, he either new or want action and got back up on the toes
Study all of your fractions, get up on the honor roll
Roll the marijuana then flip the hoodie up and get ghost
Here when they turn on the street lights
Hustle till they cut em' off, that's the street life
Got the chrome on my hip and a bud for sale
And if you trying to take this spot, better think twice
This ain't play time, you're fucking with my life
I'ma do what I gotta do to get my mail
I gotta get mine, I gotta get it
compositores: DAVEED DIGGS, JONATHAN SNIPES, UNKNOWN WRITER, WILLIAM HUTSON
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Eyes heavy, but it's time to grind motherfucker can't be late (hold up. wait.)
Fuck a nine-to-five, push work state to state (shit)
No work, no food still eatin' off paper plates
Banana clip is a paper weight, paper mate
Tally how you're married to the game
She fuckin' everybody but you still put a ring on it, on it
Keep it one hunnit, homies
Home is where the homies
Home is where the homies got your back
Get your backpack get
Back to the block, bring it back to the block, shit
Slangin' crack beats cracks into [?]
But the Glock cocked back, lay another body flat
Here when they turn on the street lights
Hustle till they cut em' off, that's the street life
Got the chrome on my hip and a bud for sale
That's how I get mine, that's how I get it
Hustlin' is a habit
So they say
This is for the G's who wasn't trippin' and never knew any other way
Other ways of gettin' money, not many do not require a degree of separation
From the streets you gettin' paid in
In which the degree of difficulty is extraordinarily high
And she high while doin' it, so see why
Somebody who isn't from it might not understand how you body a body in other words
(I'd like to just kill a man)
And still a gram is a gram and nobody is Instagramin'
They killin' on Cypress Hill and they still is squeezin' the hammers
Police is beyond the scanners, these sum of sequius bandits
And brandish [?] function
You fuck a [?] fashion that flash on a motherfucker
You fuckin' seeing the passion forgetting the hunger
This the jungle, time to get active and crack it so acrobatic it'll flip in the set
But set's up and no second guessing here in the street people sweating for the money
Here when they turn on the street lights
Hustle till they cut em' off, that's the street life
Got the chrome on my hip and a bud for sale
That's how I get mine, that's how I get it
No time for wifey's babies or other collateral damage
Checking for snitches, they be the ones order tacos in Spanish
Always thinking that they blendin' in
But then sending them telegrams to the rollers; they bitches
Not meaning meaning - fuck it, ain't no explaining
Get the fuck up and push cocaine
All these fuckers gon' sleep all day
But if you suck up [?] one of these bucks
[?] if you lacing up them chucks no Taylor Gangin'
This shit is grimy and dirty, clothes stankin' while you slangin'
Get up out to the blacktop
Backpack for the crack rock
Take [?] the cops at a spot where they knock a neighborhood watch
Watch him
Learn the code if them eyes are closed
That means he sleeping on his feet and been out in the cold
And if he flashin' the gold, he either new or want action and got back up on the toes
Study all of your fractions, get up on the honor roll
Roll the marijuana then flip the hoodie up and get ghost
Here when they turn on the street lights
Hustle till they cut em' off, that's the street life
Got the chrome on my hip and a bud for sale
And if you trying to take this spot, better think twice
This ain't play time, you're fucking with my life
I'ma do what I gotta do to get my mail
I gotta get mine, I gotta get it
compositores: DAVEED DIGGS, JONATHAN SNIPES, UNKNOWN WRITER, WILLIAM HUTSON
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Compartilhe com seus amigos.
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