Lyrics Time to Check My Fetty - Mr.serv On, Master P

Time to Check My Fetty

Huh, it’s like this here player, ain’t no rules in the ghetto
It ain’t really 'bout the dollar value, it’s 'bout the principle
A life ain’t worth nothing, any nigga come shizz out on mine
You hear what I’m saying?
I’m gonna handle that
I’m gonna show these motherfuckers, I ain’t playing
That’s the American way, I mean I’m kicking up crack houses
Knocking motherfucking doors in, 'cause I gotta get mine
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
Went half on a key with my partner Mr. Serv On
Eighteen oz’s add up, nigga that’s half home
Open up shop on six and Berone street
The fiends walking around, every nigga out there know me
Hear them on the beeper, nigga, it’s on
I done sold sixteen, I’m on my way home
Two came up short, somebody must be smoking
P grabbed that age K, nigga we ain’t joking
Bullets got no dis name, a pound and back of that good cain
1997, the dope game
Some call me Frank Nitty 'cause I ain’t taking no shorts
I’m aiming that beam at your motherfucking heart
Let the windows down on my green Eddie Bauer
A 187 for this crystal white powder
So Serv On, cut those lights off and creep
That’s when we put them cockroaches to sleep
Cruise up drive to errata to the 3rd ward
Professional execution, fuck a murder charge
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
I’m paranoid, I can’t sleep, I think my phone tapped
Rest in peace little Jacob in the calliope got kidnapped
Now I’m tripping on shit, I ain’t slipping on shit
We carry gats and shit, bulletproof vests in case niggas talking shit
Wanna creep up on us killers, drug dealers
Ghetto millionaire where niggas and bitches feel us
Fake niggas step back, jackers meet my chrome gat
They kill my cousin fulling ghosts his never come back
It’s an eye for an eye in this dope game
Niggas are losing their life living that heroin and cocaine
I trust nobody but my nickel plated Nino
Have you seen her, fuck with my greens nigga you going meet her
Meet your maker, one way ticket to Jamaica
Now your bitch with me, and I’m a fuck her, then break her
Ain’t no rules in this dope game
But don’t get high on your own supplies, man
But if you fuck with soldiers you coo coo for cocoa puffs
Cause niggas in my hood losing their life for furl and cooked rocks
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
Time to get your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cream we going take you
Hit the block in the purple caddy, got you bitches calling me daddy
Got some mountains in the trunk, nigga they going faster
So what the fuck you want?
Slanging them green birds and lemon drops
Pop a pound of that Cali green serving fiends
Got 'em fat like fifties, which one of you niggas trying to short me
Big Mo take me to the calliope, so I can see Slim
Hit the desert eagle and pay these bitches like a candy painted regale
Now I’m ready to set shop like Buggsy Seagel
On the parkway you bitches gonna die my way
Call my nigga Cujo, it’s going down, check my fetty nigga