| INTRO
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| It’s a Kardi Kardi party, what!
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| What, yeah
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| Yo this be the Kardi Kardi party, what!
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| Anybody coming through here, gotta expect
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| The hottest, hottest, hottest hottest
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| The hottest hottest shit for real
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| Yo yo,
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| Yo yo yo,
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| Yo yo yo,
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| Niggas know
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| I ain’t spittin', I hock a luggy
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| This ain’t no motherfu---- verse, I write movies
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| Picture this, how a nigga get sicker than itchy syphilis
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| Burn radio waves 'til I hit your bitch Christmas list
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| Ha, I drop rocks like a fifty cent piece from Terror’s twenty
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| Aimed at your Bentley son
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| Number one when my shard be blast
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| Mix with hash, made your heart beat fast
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| Back at your ass in full flash
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| Come to mash every last class of (emcee)
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| Pass the baton when I get on
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| And go on until I got it on
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| Spark it up and inhale this (emcee)
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| Masterly, masterfully I be the (emcee)
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| So many can’t rock the mic, so they hold the Glock tight
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| And I give thanks I wasn’t born a sucker
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| Pucker for this hard fist lyricist
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| 'Nuff butter like BBJ’s grocery list
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| Yo, hoes be this hoes be that
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| Bet if I flash this watch my nigga, that ho be back
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| And I ain’t even rocking a Rolly or fronting with cash
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| I’m at the bar with George Costanza arguing for tax
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| The first to let you know, get some flood insurance
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| It ain’t a rare occurrence when I overflow
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| You’ll be backstrokin' from Alaska to Oakland
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| When me and my Circle be in a yacht… (floating) *echo*
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| CHORUS (Kardinal)
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| You know this money man
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| Got us acting funny man
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| We sick of living crummy man
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| We got to get this money man
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| (New houses),
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| (Real figures by the thousands),
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| (Big stacks for the family),
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| (Big tunes playing annually),
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| Yo, easy rude bwoy, give me a little second to breeze through
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| We make the track jump, so it’s hard to roll trees to
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| No matter give me no daps nigga, I ain’t trying to please you
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| Want to flow with me, can’t afford the fees duke
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| Claiming street raps when Jeff Healey could see through
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| Your wonder bra rah rah,
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| Go ahead like punk trick and watch where you land
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| I’m a shady black slim, you a nigga I can’t stand
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| Move! |
| kid, this some celebrity next shit
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| Step up and watch the next celebrity hanging by they necklace
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| Peasants! |
| Think about what you getting into
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| We hardcore, bump those little fist fights we’ve been through
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| We done did it, never mind can or can do
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| We trying to make it easier for our fam to Land Cruise
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| You sell the same weed at the same spot
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| We graduated to the high grade lyrics pon cock
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| I’ve been autobahn rhyme ever since primetime
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| Saw George and Wheezy sipping on fine wine
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| The ghetto scream like daylight savings time
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| Bring it back, firing legal hollows out the Ac'
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| MC’s of leisure, Sauk and Kardinal
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| We bring the ebony stone, now watch me carve it out
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| Bump my shit in tenement housing
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| It’s a vocal revolution for 2000… «1!»
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| Ayo, you better come strapped when we attack
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| Cause only strapped cats have a shot at the rap
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| Bullet holes in the map leave a trail to where we at
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| But stop short of we
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| We got them sucking the bowl like they speaking Portuguese
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| So bitch freeze, your motivation evident
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| Rhymes milky, chocolate has heaven sent
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| Ayo, I’m older now, arguing with back clerks
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| And presidents and crack heads smoking too close to the residence
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| What!
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| Yo yo,
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| Yo yo yo,
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| Yo yo yo,
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| Yo yo yo,
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| You know this money man
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| Got us acting funny man
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| We sick of living crummy man
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| We got to get this money man
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| Yo, big Sox, Kardinal Offishall
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| Circle IV, big YLook, cousin Spoke
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| Let the motherfu---- beat ride
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| Don’t sleep niggas |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Gotta Get It , by - Kardinal Offishall. Song from the album Quest For Fire: Firestarter Vol. 1, in the genre R&B