Get.It Songtext
von clipping. feat. Kill Rogers & TiVO

Uh, bitch, where your clothes?
Why they ain′t on the floor?
Player, where is your money?
How you get in the door?
Colored lights like a disco
Downin' shots like a missile
Put a stamp on that ass
Now that ass is official
Who gettin′ sick from the thizzin'?
Who got grease in they kitchen? Who got dollars for pussy?
Who the fuck is you kiddin'?
Who got kids at home?
Don′t say nothin′
Take your shirt off, show 'em somethin′
Woah, hold up
Swag, swag, swag, throw up
Yeah, you got the club smellin' like ass
Last ass′s still standin', gon′ get it some cash
So get it, get it, get it, get it, get it


Yeah
Niggas out in line like there's nothin' else to do
But it′s nothin′ else to do with a line full of niggas
Aimin' at the bar, like you waitin′ for a shot
'Til somebody pull the trigger, now everybody dippin′, ah
Get them flippin' out the door, whip it work, India′ Jones
Raid this bitch, indeed it though
Fuck the world 'til tomorrow come
It's more abundant be alone
Pour a blunt and drink the smoke
For the sun up, re-up more
The more you plan to be afloat
Everybody goin′ like, "Gotta get it, get it gone"
Get it ′til that shit is gone
Get it 'til them bitches, bitches, bitches, bitches, bitches know
Set the record set in stone
Set in metal, cell a′ phone
Niggas reppin', reppin′, more
Reppin' more, now get it, get it, get it, ah

Yeah
Light that propane and sizzle
Play that dope game a fiddle
Yo′ aim is set, how you mobbin'
Workin' at night like you Kimmel
Hipsters sip that kombucha while my pimp juice is organic
I slang that shit out the sliver of my pants zipper, god damn it
Where the fuck my hoes at?
Where the fuck my robe at?
I am that trappin′ Hefner
Spillin′ Remy on my throwback
Three bitches in my Nova comatose, they robo rockin'
One of them naked, playin′ with pussy while holdin' my Johnson
Yup, yup, now put your mouth down on it
And get it, get it, get it
Take a breath and lick it
Get it, get it, like you′re protein deficient
I want to Instagram this and have 20 people like it
And thumbs up to the camera so these hoes know they're invited

Uh, cocaine up to the ceilin′
Fiends is snortin' the roof
Stroll in front of the club
Daddy buyin' some shoes
Bouncer brawlin′ and beatin′ them eggheads down to the yolk
Collared shirts in a line, fuck that line, it's a joke
A-ha-ha-ha-ha, punch lines
Get it? Punch lines
Get it, get it, get that rum punch
Laughin′ at a motherfucker's lost lunch
Throwin′ bowls, swellin' eyes, gettin′ baked, sellin' pies
Flippin' birds, countin′ money, snort it ′til they nose is runny
Blood is trippin'
This blood is crippin′
Leave this blood crippled
Then e'rybody dippin′
Get it, get it, get it, get it
Woah