Get It Up Songtext
von Sticky Fingaz
Get It Up Songtext
Damn, is y′all ready to go up in here?
Alright, pull the black mask down
We 'bout to rush the door
Ah shit, hide your jewelry
I told y′all we was coming
Yo everybody watch out, word up
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player, pick it up, huh
My killers in the cut coast, stick 'em up, huh
Ladies grab your shirts and lift 'em up, huh
Lemme see your ass baby, back it up, huh
My soldiers on the front line actin′ up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw 'em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Yo Sticky Fingaz, word out
I told y'all niggas, yo come on
Hennesied up, play the cut, lightin′ it up
Rag on my head, eyes lookin' half way dead
Brought my thugs to the club, straight off the street
I′m iceburg to my feet about a third of the week
Relax baby, don't spaz 'cause he touched your ass
I ain′t say shit when your friend touched my dick
I see Brooklyn schemin′, we all in the spot
But that's hip hop, we rap niggas from off the block
Is it me or is it gettin′ hot in here?
I think somebody 'bout to get shot in here
The nine mil′ guaranteed to clear the spot in here
And we ain't get searched kid, we got glocks in here
Somebody bring me to the hoe suckin′ cocks in here
I think they trying to shut it down, I seen cops in here
I'm the hottest shit Universal got this year
And all my niggaz rockin' rocks in here, come on
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player, pick it up, huh
My killers in the cut coast, stick ′em up, huh
Ladies grab your shirts and lift ′em up, huh
Lemme see your ass, baby, back it up, huh
My soldiers on the front line actin' up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw 'em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Black Trash, yo kick that old real shit
That Queens shit nigga
Fire marshall said it's too packed, nigga fuck the law
And the guest list, niggas ′bout to rush the door
Got cats online in ties and suits
We come through VIP and button flies and boots
Everybody gettin' comped, I ain't paying no admission
Sticky Fingaz, I can′t even pay attention
Love the freaks that tweek and be liftin′ it up
Love the freaks that creep and be givin' it up
I got twelve inches, I′m well hung
Nine on my dick and three on my tongue
My manager, the bitch name is Helen Wate
Need a free show? Nigga go to hell and wait
And if God only helped those that help themselves
When I see somethin', I want ′em, I help myself
So unless you and me come to a understanding
You gonna be under, and I'ma be standin′
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player, pick it up, huh
My killers in the cut coast, stick 'em up, huh
Ladies grab your shirts and lift 'em up, huh
Lemme see your ass, baby, back it up, huh
My soldiers on the front line actin′ up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw 'em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Word up, we takin' all y′all money
We takin' all y′all bitches, what y'all thought it was?
I'm so hot to death, I′ll probably get shot to death
Fuck who the cops arrest my killers is rough
Shoot up the club like Puff, niggas′ll duck
Chains tucked, Timbs get scuffed
I pull a four-four from out of the seat
Up out it and beat, picture me not ridin' with heat
Jump out of the Jeep, clear a nigga out of the street
Nobody can creep thirty deep nigga, I′m out of your reach
Ain't nothing but killers posted next to me
I′m prejudice, I hate every color except for green
In the club, that's were my niggas′ jewelry shop
When the hammer cock, we don't care who we box
So why you come to the club, what you livin' it up?
Why you fuckin′ with that chick and was she givin′ it up?
Why you even cop jewels, what you can't get stuck?
Why you never say when, you ain′t had enough?
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player pick it up, huh
(Nigga scheming on my chain son) (What?) (I don't know god)
(Damn you don′t know son?)
(Yo son look man niggaz walking over there son, yo what up son?)
(You know what the fuck this is, nigga?)
(Give me that chain the fuck you thinking?)
(Oh shit!) C'mon
Let′s go
Get it up
Alright, pull the black mask down
We 'bout to rush the door
Ah shit, hide your jewelry
I told y′all we was coming
Yo everybody watch out, word up
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player, pick it up, huh
My killers in the cut coast, stick 'em up, huh
Ladies grab your shirts and lift 'em up, huh
Lemme see your ass baby, back it up, huh
My soldiers on the front line actin′ up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw 'em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Yo Sticky Fingaz, word out
I told y'all niggas, yo come on
Hennesied up, play the cut, lightin′ it up
Rag on my head, eyes lookin' half way dead
Brought my thugs to the club, straight off the street
I′m iceburg to my feet about a third of the week
Relax baby, don't spaz 'cause he touched your ass
I ain′t say shit when your friend touched my dick
I see Brooklyn schemin′, we all in the spot
But that's hip hop, we rap niggas from off the block
Is it me or is it gettin′ hot in here?
I think somebody 'bout to get shot in here
The nine mil′ guaranteed to clear the spot in here
And we ain't get searched kid, we got glocks in here
Somebody bring me to the hoe suckin′ cocks in here
I think they trying to shut it down, I seen cops in here
I'm the hottest shit Universal got this year
And all my niggaz rockin' rocks in here, come on
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player, pick it up, huh
My killers in the cut coast, stick ′em up, huh
Ladies grab your shirts and lift ′em up, huh
Lemme see your ass, baby, back it up, huh
My soldiers on the front line actin' up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw 'em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Black Trash, yo kick that old real shit
That Queens shit nigga
Fire marshall said it's too packed, nigga fuck the law
And the guest list, niggas ′bout to rush the door
Got cats online in ties and suits
We come through VIP and button flies and boots
Everybody gettin' comped, I ain't paying no admission
Sticky Fingaz, I can′t even pay attention
Love the freaks that tweek and be liftin′ it up
Love the freaks that creep and be givin' it up
I got twelve inches, I′m well hung
Nine on my dick and three on my tongue
My manager, the bitch name is Helen Wate
Need a free show? Nigga go to hell and wait
And if God only helped those that help themselves
When I see somethin', I want ′em, I help myself
So unless you and me come to a understanding
You gonna be under, and I'ma be standin′
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player, pick it up, huh
My killers in the cut coast, stick 'em up, huh
Ladies grab your shirts and lift 'em up, huh
Lemme see your ass, baby, back it up, huh
My soldiers on the front line actin′ up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw 'em up, huh
Lemme see your guns, what? Throw ′em up, huh
Word up, we takin' all y′all money
We takin' all y′all bitches, what y'all thought it was?
I'm so hot to death, I′ll probably get shot to death
Fuck who the cops arrest my killers is rough
Shoot up the club like Puff, niggas′ll duck
Chains tucked, Timbs get scuffed
I pull a four-four from out of the seat
Up out it and beat, picture me not ridin' with heat
Jump out of the Jeep, clear a nigga out of the street
Nobody can creep thirty deep nigga, I′m out of your reach
Ain't nothing but killers posted next to me
I′m prejudice, I hate every color except for green
In the club, that's were my niggas′ jewelry shop
When the hammer cock, we don't care who we box
So why you come to the club, what you livin' it up?
Why you fuckin′ with that chick and was she givin′ it up?
Why you even cop jewels, what you can't get stuck?
Why you never say when, you ain′t had enough?
Get it up, huh
The ice on ya wrist player pick it up, huh
(Nigga scheming on my chain son) (What?) (I don't know god)
(Damn you don′t know son?)
(Yo son look man niggaz walking over there son, yo what up son?)
(You know what the fuck this is, nigga?)
(Give me that chain the fuck you thinking?)
(Oh shit!) C'mon
Let′s go
Get it up
Writer(s): George Spivey, Kirk Jones Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com