| Song | Get Your Paper |
| Artist | Master P |
| Album | MP Da Last Don (Clean) |
| 作词 : E Forty, 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. | |
| 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 | |
| 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] |
| zuò cí : E Forty, Master P | |
| Master P: Ughhh! Ha ha! | |
| E40: Oooo! Huh? P what' s up boy? | |
| MP: What' s up 40 boy? | |
| E40: Talk to me weepilation. | |
| MP: Dey don' t know we been doin? dis. | |
| E40: Last Deezy, Last Don. | |
| MP: Bay Area playa nigga. | |
| E40: This EFeezy 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. | |
| E40: | |
| Let it be writ and said, done and published | |
| That on the sixth month of June 1998 | |
| E40 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? popo, 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 | |
| E40: | |
| 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 | |
| Chorus | |
| E40: | |
| Uh, nneva 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 | |
| Adlibs until end |