Uh, gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, get yours
Ayo I′m smooth as I wanna be, f*ck with me you's a gonna g!
(Oh, that′s the way it is?)
Fuck yeah and that's the way it's gonna be
(Why), puffin up on tha dank and drinking mad brew
Taking names and after that I′m kickin′ ass too
Breed, time to flow (can I get a rhyme to go)
Hell yeah, Pac, I'll sit back, straight up design it slow
They hate to see a young n***a (come up)
Another punk, (run up) and have to get his (gun up)
Cause uh I ain′t takin no shorts
Like a Newport fort, exploitin' the floor like Jordan
Explodin′ on the hoop court
And I don't wanna be, I don′t wanna be nuttin' like Mike
'Cause even Mike was like it′s an itsy bit triflin′
And when you in the spotlight, you get um, jocked right
But your knot's not tight
Buckin′ anybody who f*ck wit' mine
When will they realize? I′m straight out to get mine
Yeah, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours (I gotta get mine)
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, get yours
I keep my mind on my money, money on my mind
Finger on the trigger, nigga, hand on my 9
Smokin' blunts a skunk, making holes in punks
And only underground funk pumpin′ out of my trunk
Live the life of a hustler, high 'til I die
Meeting bitches, getting riches, miss me with lies
Picture me living out my life as a busta
I'd rather pop out a shot from my Glock and blast mothafuckas
I live the thug life, baby, I′m hopeless
Chokin′ off indo, tryin' to keep my focus
Don′t let that bullshit worry me
Fuck the fame, I'm true to the game ′til they bury me
God gave me game, so I'm hustlin′
Pour out some liquor for my niggas, 2Pac is still strugglin'
My n***a Breed knew the time
Whether it's rhyme or crime, nigga, I gotta get mine
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, get yours
Now, tell me van you measure the amount of applause I keep gettin′?
Every time I pick up a mic and start spittin′
The sidewalks of New York will start bumpin'
Jumpin′ around, with the motherfuckin' pound
And I′m down to the fullest, and breakin' nigga′s ass off proper
Did I shock you, 'cause I got you in my pocket again
Them new jacks and you jacks
Who knew me and my niggas, when I used to run it way back when
I boasted, and roasted, and coasted to the pinnacle
Because of what I do with a pen
It's vernacular precision
Connect the two lines and it′s division
Plus, when I add lutes and flutes
It′s guaranteed to sell like prostitutes
I never had a love for hoes who put it blunt
And want me in the back, but, bitch, I'm in the front!
Don′t front, and really I don't need a reply
Pull yourself together as you pass me by
I′m on a whole another level, them hoes is left
I told you before, keep ya p***y to yourself
Goodbye, some many niggas lied to have
Funny what a motherfucker do for math
I got fractions caught up in my everyday actions
Point equal to your real satisfaction
Buckin' anybody who f*ck wit′ mine
When will they realize, I'm straight out to get mine haha
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
