Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get It How You Live, artist - Twista. Date of issue: 02.10.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Get It How You Live |
| Double x, never less baby |
| Twista and Scott Storch in a dropped Porsche |
| That new shit, check it out |
| My neck on bling, cris on chill |
| Standing on the corner steady, trying to make a mill |
| When it come to hustling, got to get it how you live |
| And I’m on the come up, so motherfuck how you feel |
| My fingers on frost, ears on froze |
| Hanging at the club while hoes slide down the pole |
| Rolling with the Gs and the Foes and the Souls |
| With two bitches on my arms, sporting thousand dollar clothes |
| Looking kind of stunning, so the cameras on flick |
| Ain’t no motherfuckers out here that can do it like this |
| On top of my game, and when a hater’s all fall |
| I’mma be smiling, revealing my grill from Paul Wall |
| Shake it for me bitch, let me see you get loose |
| Let me see you sipping on some shit that’s 80 proof |
| Let me see if I’mma let you get up in the 'lac |
| Bend over so I can see how I’mma hit it from the back |
| I hustle wit the rhymes, but I’m better wit the keys |
| And I’m clubbin' wit the pees, I get cheddar wit the fees |
| I’m always on the hustle, so don’t ask why I succeed |
| I got flows, I got dro, I got whatever u need |
| Tires on shine, rims on gloss |
| When it come to mobbing, I’mma motherfucking boss |
| I stay making paper, behind the mic and on the tipping |
| I ain’t stingy wit the dust, the whole crew ride slick |
| Think you shitting on the nigga t, I doubt that |
| My flow will make your booty move, like a house track |
| Have 'em at the party screaming, «Get the doe», «Get the doe» |
| And if I ever go broke, I guarantee to bounce back |
| If beats was like a tipper, then my flow would play the cane |
| Got shit to make you float off the floor, like David Blaine |
| You rich because I spit it universal to the drums |
| And I circle with some guns, blow out purple out my lungs |
| I pimp and fuck a bitch, I don’t need to buy her 'lacs |
| I be on the move, staying paid pushing Cadillacs |
| Investing in my raps, if I don’t make a quarter back |
| I throw eight balls to my homies, on the corners like quarterbacks |
| Let me break your back shawty, show me what u got shawty |
| We some motherfuking killers, Chicago made niggas making figures |
| Teeth on bling, rolly on flick |
| Standing on the stage while I’m holding on my dick |
| Bout to spit a new verse off out the mobstaz new shit |
| Holla walla pop the colla on my new outfit |
| If you want war, you think you got rounds to come get me |
| I think you better go smoke a whole pound of that sticky |
| Keep on talking that you’re not hate around your committee |
| I’mma dodge that nigga that put it down for the city |