Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Get Up , by - clipping.. Release date: 09.06.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Get Up |
| No work, no food, still eatin' off paper plates |
| Banana clip is a paperweight, paper mate |
| Tell 'em 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 Sacroiliac |
| But the Glock cocked back, lay another body flat |
| Here when they turn on the street lights |
| Hustle 'til they cut 'em off, that’s the street life |
| Got the chrome on my hip and a bird 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 (how I could 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 some obsequious bandits |
| And brandishin' flags of function |
| You fuck a figure, it’s fashion then 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 a sec, 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 'til they cut 'em off, that’s the street life |
| Got the chrome on my hip and a bird 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 feminine |
| 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 when one of you step up to these bucks |
| Knock 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 shot at 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 'til they cut 'em off, that’s the street life |
| Got the chrome on my hip and a bird for sale, ayy |
| 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 mil' |
| I gotta get mine, I gotta get it |