(2Pac)
I gotta get paid!
(Chorus)
I gotta get mine,you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine,you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine,you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine,you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine,you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine,you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine,you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine
get yours
(Verse 1: MC Breed)
Ay yo,
I'm smooth as I wanna be
Step to me you'se a gonner G (Oh that's the way it is)
Hell yeah and that's the way it's gonna be
Why?
Puffin' upon the dank and drinkin' mad brew
Takin' names and after that I'm kickin' ass too
Breed
Time to flow {Can I get a rhyme to go}
Hell yeah Pac I'll set back and design it slow.
They hate's to see a young brother, COME UP
Another punk, RUN UP
And have to get his, GUN UP
Cause uh
I ain't takin' no shorts
like a Newport Ford, explortin the floor
Like Jordan explodin' on the hoop court
And I don't wanna be,
I don't wanna be nuttin' like mike
Cause even mike don't miss every itty bitty triflin
And when you in the spotlight
You get um jocked right
But your knots not tight
Huh
Buckin' anybody tryna take mine
When will they realize
I'm straight out to get mine
{Chorus x7)
[Verse 2: 2Pac]
I keep my mind on my money
Money on my mind
Finga on the trigga
Hand on my nine
I'm smokin' blunts a skunk
Puttin' holes of punks
And only underground funk pumpin' outta my trunk
Live the life as a hustla
High till I die
Givin' em vapor's makin' paper's
Miss me with lies
Picture me living out my life as a busta
I'd rather pop out a shot from my Glock
And blast other suckers
I live it "Thug Life" baby I'm hopeless
Chokin' off indo
Tryna keep my focus
Don't let them punk cowards worry me
Keep the fame
I'm true to the game
Till they bury me
God gave me game so I'm hustlin'
Pour out some liquor for my homies
Tupac is still strugglin'
My homie Breed new the time (yeah)
whether its rhyme or crime
Sucker
I gotta get mine
(Chorus x7)
Breed, Hey
Get your's
(Verse 3: MC Breed)
Tell me can you measure the amount of applause I keep gettin'
Every time I pick up a mic and start spittin'
The sidewalk's of New York'll start bumpin'
Jumpin' around
With my homies in the Pound
And I'm down to the fullest
Now see me break ass off proper
Did I sock you
Cause I got you in my pockets again
The new Jacks
Who knew Jacks
Who knew me and my homies when I run it way back when
I boasted, and roasted
And coasted to the pinnacle because of what I do with a pen
It's financial precision
Connected two lines in this division
Plus
When I add loose as flutes
It's guaranteed to sell like prostitutes
I never had a love for those who put it blunt
They want me in the back
But see I'm in the front
Don't front
And really I don't need a reply
Pull yourself together as you pass me by
I'm on a whole other level
And those that's left
I told you before
You can keep it to yourself
Surprised
Some many people lied to have
It's funny what a young brother does for math
I got fractions caught up in my everyday actions
Point
Equal to your real satisfaction
Buckin' anybody tryna take mine
When will they realize
I'm straight out to get mine
(Chorus repeated till the end)
