Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Paid, artist - Styles. Date of issue: 31.12.2001
Song language: English
Get Paid |
| Can Holiday get some of this motherfucking paper around here please? |
| Shit, I’m fucked up I aint the lyin type |
| Can I get paid |
| I’m just tryin to make some cash |
| I’m just tryin to make some cash |
| I told you I ball for dope |
| I’m in a Caucasian Jag wit a bag knockin hauler notes |
| Spendin 200 G’s in the fall for coats |
| You could call me alotta things but don’t call me broke |
| and I told you I bust my steel |
| I stay cuffed in the bullpen like P you bout to fuck up your deal |
| but I told you I make my bail |
| I’m at home in the alcohol bath tryin to shake the jail |
| and I’m pickin up my automatics, automatically |
| I got a bad habit, makin people mad at me Dog, I’m just tryin to get paid |
| Cop some jewels too, act like a fool too, run and get laid |
| Ten million for the crib put the gun on the maid |
| Weed on the chefs, so I can get high with the meal |
| Got to get my head right 'fore I fly to Brazil |
| Make my sheets outta hundreds so I can lie in a mil, what up Can I get paid |
| I’m just tryin to make some cash |
| I’m just tryin to make some cash |
| Can I get paid |
| I’m just tryin to make some cash |
| I’m just tryin to make some cash |
| Dog, you’d be pleased to kick it |
| I’ma call up my NBA niggas get some season tickets |
| Catch me in the skybox in any arena |
| I won’t be happy til I cop my niggas 50 medinas |
| But I’m tryin to be realistic, and I get really twisted |
| So I’m settlin for seventy beamers |
| Somebody call Bill Gates, tell him meet with the streets |
| One on one so I can get some real cake |
| Tryin to see my shit in the Forbes, Trump tower for 'self |
| so you know I’m still pitchin the boy |
| and the niggas need lottery numbers |
| Charge this ?? |
| freak DeCalis and Hummers |
| Blow smoke in the sky till the Air Force come |
| Cop 50,000 pair of Air Force Ones |
| and if I can’t live it up, then I’m runnin up in the record label tellin everybody give it up, what up I kill lemonade peeps |
| It’s Holiday with the fruit punch Ferarri and the lemonade seats |
| Face look really aggy, jeans really baggy |
| Fitted hat, white T and some Bruno Maglies |
| Doublin and flippin |
| You understand I need a house so big I need a shuttle to the kitchen |
| That’s why I keep the 45 government edition |
| sofa costs a hundred, so do the love seat |
| The big screen is crazy and I’m lovin the conditions |
| I got a vision and it’s cash involved |
| Can I get paid, or you get sprayed |
| It be the only damn question that I’m askin y’all, what up |