Get the Hell on With That Songtext
von Fat Joe

Whoa, whoa, whoa
All you frontin′ ass niggaz
Callin' all frontin′ ass bitches
Yo, get the Hell on with that
Yo, yo, yo, yo

Why you over there lookin' at me, while my girl standin' there?
These bitches actin′ like they never seen a millionaire
Feel my pockets, wanna really get your hands in there
Now what it be like?
You confused man, that shit don′t even seem right
How you cats on your album only three mics?
Like 'Pac shit is funny to me
All you niggaz livin′ bummy wasn't fuckin′ with me
Now nigga get it on, soon you be dead and gone


Shorty got a bubble all she need the silicone
Love my A T L bitches, pay my bail bitches
Type to let you fuck but never tell bitches
Down ass hoes that'll grind that dough
Catch me with another chick and beat them down to a pulp
It′s the F A T, to the J O E
Drink cris' with the feds when they come for me
No cuffs, no guns, they respect a G
Number one with a slug, what you expect from me?
Are you serious?

If you see a nigga frontin' fake shit on his wrist
Walk around all night, same bottle of Cris′
(Say what, say what what?)
(Say what, say what what?)
If you see a bitch frontin′ in her best friend's clothes
New sass weaven and fucked up toes
(Say what, say what what?)
(Say what, say what what?)

Now all my ladies put your hands up
Nah mami, if you fuck for doe then you′s a hoe
And no I'm not the one that don′t drop the notes
I only ice the beef and rock the coat
Think you gettin' somethin′ from me your thoughts are broke
Might get a little wheeze and a salty throat
So get the Hell on with that, don't you weave and feel it
Get the Hell on with that, I'm alright I′m just chillin′


Chicken neck ass bitch tryin' to palm the dough
Should′ve charged me at the door, I would let you know
Get the same jewel mouth full of heavy mo'
Coulda made you a thug from the guy with the mo′
But yo, I ain't never met a chick that was innocent
They all fuck some, eat some, never kiss
I know a lot that got skeed on and that was it
See me in the video like, "Bitch I sucked his dick"

You let him in at one time ′cause you thought he was fly
Now you see him at the clubs, he don't pay you no mind
(Say what, say what what?)
(Say what, say what what?)
Yo, every time you smoke, dude puff your 'dro
But when it′s time to go cop, he ain′t got no dough
(Say what, say what what?)
(Say what, say what what?)

Ludacris be the number one street, clown wishin 'em luck
Cause I′m 'bout to make them break a leg thinkin′ I'm givin a FUCK
And you catch a beat, down, bottles is breakin′, craniums crack
Chairs thrown when the heat is attacked
And you hear the street, sound, hitters and runners
Killers and gunners, winter to summer the niggaz that want us
Are headed East bound, trouble in West other than South
Cover your chest, they cover your mouth

I'm goin' deep down Dirty indeed, birdies in need
Thirty degrees and you heard it from me
But I′m ′bout to reach, around grabbin' my gun
They scatter and run but I′m handlin' and havin′ some fun
They gotta keep, rounds up under the bed, up under the spread
If it ain't then it ain′t, no wonder you dead
So go to sleep, now, throats is splitted
And folks that get it they gotta get the hell on widdit, BIATCH

Yo, yo, all these niggaz that claim thug like they're the type
But when it's time to go to war they runnin′ for dear life
(Say what, say what what?)
(Say what, say what what?)
Got this clown runnin′ around like he's my fam
We did time in what joint? I don′t know you man
(Say what, say what what?)
(Say what, say what what?)

Yeah, T S, Terror
Get the Hell on with that, get the Hell on with that
Yeah, Charlie Rock L D
Ton' Montana rest in peace, 2001
Get the Hell on with that, get the Hell on with that
Yeah