2Pac feat. MC Breed ( R.I.P. homiez) - Gotta Get Mine | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• 2Pac feat. MC Breed ( R.I.P. homiez)
• Gotta Get Mine

[Hook]
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours X2
I gotta get mine
Get yours

[MC Breed] (2Pac)
Aiyyo I'm Smooth as I wanna be, for pussy 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 nigga, COME UP
Another punk, RUN UP and have to get his, GUN UP
Cause um 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 a itsy bitsy wet triflin
And when you in the spotlight, you get um jocked right
But your knot's not tight
Buckin anybody who fuck wit' mine
When will they realize? I'm straight out to get mine

[Hook] - 6X

[2Pac]
I keep my mind on my money, money on my mind
Finger on the trigger, nigga, hand on my nine
Smokin blunts a skunk, makin hoes of punks
And only underground funk pumpin outta my trunk
Live the life of a hustler: high till I die;
Meetin bitches, gettin 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 motherfuckers
I live the thug life, baby, I'm hopeless
Chokin off indo trying 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 liqour for my niggas, 2Pac is still strugglin!
My nigga Breed knew the time
Whether it's ryhme or crime, nigga, I gotta get mine

[Hook] - 6X

[MC Breed]
Now, tell me
Can you measure the amount of applause I keep gettin?
Everytime 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 niggas 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 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 pussy to yourself
Goodbye, some many niggas lied to have
Funny what a motherfucker do for math
I got fractions caught up in my everday actions
Point equal to your real satisfaction
Buckin anybody who fuck wit' mine
When will they realize, I'm straight out to get mine haha

[Hook] - 6X