| Sauce Money, get breaded
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| Fat Joe, get breaded
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| Oooooh, E-40, get breaded, get breaded
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| Sauce Money, get breaded
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| Fat Joe, get breaded
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| My penitentiary family’ll
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| Reach 'fore you make a bet, when you gonna lay in a buck?
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| When you gon' bust these suckers upside the head with another dump?
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| I ain’t no punk I’m like a basepipe cause I’m dope
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| E’rytime I touch the microphone, I come with smoke
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| Playa potnah whatchu talkin bout? |
| What dey lookin like?
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| I just come off a double-album, you know that shit was tight
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| And you right I make my drops for the club and the trunk
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| Like a pregnant lady come with a album every eight or nine months
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| See y’all ain’t ready
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| At seventeen I had a hundred dollars -- eh-eh, thousands
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| Chevy Impalas, ??, Cougars, lower-development housin
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| Who can split it, seen it, did it, been in it, done it
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| When y’all was tryin to walk it, see I was tryin to run it
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| Smoked a lot of trees drunk (trees drunk)
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| Locked a lot of keys in the trunk (keys in the trunk)
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| On my way back from the sushi bar, drinkin saki
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| I’se diamonded down and clusters on my fingers, like Liberace
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| To all my 223 spitters, hustlers paper go-getters
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| Seven digit figures, tymers, ballers, hillside niggas
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| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
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| If youse obsessed withcha wealth and it
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| More carats than a bunny rabbit
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| Pop yo' collar one time if you got a weed habit
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| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
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| The only way I get involved if it mean more dough
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| (uh-huh) Sauce Money, E-4-Oh
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| You know they want em, diamonds, flaunt em
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| Treat all my hoes like Billy Blank son and Tae-Bo on em
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| Whattup ma, too many G’s to consume?
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| I spit game so I can ease in your womb
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| I know what you thinkin I’m just teasin the tomb
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| While I kick it with 40, take the keys to my room
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| Lobster, shrimpin, never simpin, gangsta limpin
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| Went from Sauce Money to big pimpin
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| Like bell bottoms, too much flate for some
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| Flow so hot got summer scared to come
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| But everybody on the track holdin weight
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| Five hundred thou', that’s the golden gate
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| From B-K to Oaktown, pass the smoke round
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| Let me find out who broke now, uh-huh
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| There’s love in the East and there’s love in the West
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| Coast to coast G’s do what you do best, just
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| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
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| To all my gettin money chicks if you love the song
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| Tell your man if he broke, he dead-ass wrong, you better
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| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
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| Yeah, who wanna fuck with The Last Don?
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| I hate you niggas with a pass-ion
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| Fuck around and get blast on
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| My niggas mad strong and they kill you quick
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| Come out or get hit, we the shit
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| Think I would lie to you bitch?
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| You could die with the snitch, and buried alive in the ditch
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| Come five with the fifth, try to slide but you slid
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| We the livest of clicks, Terror Squad to the death of me
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| Remember me? |
| The same kid that ran triz on Stephanie
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| Felony’s the minimal, enemies I pity you
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| Step to me, c’est la vie, and I’m killin you
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| Drillin you with holes in your chest
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| You opposin the best
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| T.S., supreme, crows on the nest
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| ?? |
| like what you say out here ain’t nuttin nice
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| For brownie points or stripes niggas take your life
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| With boxcutters, fuck a knife, just for braggin rights
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| LOST IN THE GAME! |
| Drownin sinkin holdin my breath
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| LOST IN THE GAME! |
| Broke miserable starvin to death
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| Boom boom boom, BOOM BOOM!
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| Crazy weebleations. |
| BOSS BURN BROOM!
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| Bills, wheels, and about eleven-thousand dollars worth
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| Of counterfeit bills, marked money and sour dope deals
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| To all my 223 spitters, hustlers paper go-getters
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| Seven digit figures, tymers, ballers, hillside niggas
|
| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
|
| If youse obsessed withcha wealth and it
|
| More carats than a bunny rabbit
|
| Pop yo' collar one time if you got a weed habit
|
| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
|
| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
|
| Get yer bread. |
| bounce yer head!
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| And there you have it
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| Three tycoons. |
| weighin in at 300-plus ya undersmell that?
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| Fat Joe, Sauce Money and E-40, ya undersmell that?
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| East coast West Coast connection, y’know
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| SicK Wid It Records, the new millineum ballers
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| Ya undersmell me? |
| Where you come from?
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| Beyotch?! |
| You know we do this. |
| hoahhhh
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| A-HOAHHHH! |
| SHEEEIT! |
| BEOTCH! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Get Breaded (feat. Sauce Money & Fat Joe) , by - E-40. Song from the album Charlie Hustle: The Blueprint of a Self-Made Millionaire, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп