Woorden: Chuck D. Autobiography Of Mistachuck. Paid.

(feat. Kendu, Melquan)

[Verse 1: Kendu]
I caught you peekin around the corner
Tryin to see if we left yet
We staked out your shit last night
Feeling the vibe for death
To make you strangle on you blood fluid.
You know it
Sleep walking with the machete saying
Them dogs made you do it, true it
Mr. Machete telling you bitches I'm ready
Never nervous behind the barrel
Trigger finger stay steady
So buckle up
It's the only way to survive the ride
Down to the Y we havin a party inside
I dedicated this to all you insects
Who deep on buggin me
Pushing my panic button, needin trauma
Unit recovery
My tracks be fat got them attracting like crack
Even P.E. be screaming you bring that beat back
Come one come all my shit be smoking like echo sauna
The underground went with digital
Humpin around if you wanna go
Toe to toe or pussy to dick
Head chicken heads practice on carrot
Sticks
Or let you doo doo hole spread eww
Y'all niggers chill cause we went there too
We change this shit from the ruffside
To the shithole crew
And we're paid

[Chorus x4]

[B.I.G.:] (Goodness gracious)
Gettin' money
[B.I.G.:] (Tha papers)
Gettin' money
[B.I.G.:] (Get paid)

[Verse 2: Melquan]
Spinach flips my lips
Sit on top of crystal bottle tips
Sippin ready to flip do a hit
On a rapper that a serpent
Counterfeit criminal fakin jacks
Luxury in his raps ain't facts
If a camouflage large niggas
Keep it on the low black
No raps or Kodak just stacking cheese
Freezers packed
Murdered human bodies executed vicious
Reputed business German lugers
Lift spitting & twist just
Flesh confronted nobody want it son
I come correct
Connect vocabulary that burry your rep, yep
Son slaughter rip shit
On tracks that I eclipse with
Flowin showing I'm wicked
Lyrics murderin myths with
No remorse a different flow continuous
Blends with no resemblance
Money & power till it's vengeance

[Chorus x4]

[B.I.G.:] (Goodness gracious)
Gettin' money
[B.I.G.:] (Tha papers)
Gettin' money
[B.I.G.:] (Get paid)

[Verse 3: Chuck D]
One of the seven they couldn't hang
Stepped to the six
The last brother alive
Of the startin five-one of the ones
But you look don't acknowledge
The mix with a quickness
Suckers fall and crumble
To the sickness (sickness)
Of not baggin themselves
Not braggin helps
Your lil ass go figure
Why ya pants be saggin
Stare at my audacity
I ain't from the city (strong ile)
No pitty no tears
Cause I ain't from around here
Freestyle what's the use
Record companies get the money
And give you juice, and end up cutting your ass loose (cut off)
While you style for free
They talk wild for a fee
And getcha ass souped
While you never ever recoup
Catchin wreck wit no check
They'll never give ya respect
Ya blackself (my brother)
Getcha self some real yelp (yeah)
Accountant, sharp businessman
Who'll sit down & show ya
Instead a some rich bitch lawyer
Who swear that he know ya-he don't
Know ya as long as
Other folk in rap
Got it made
Fuck freestyle
I wanna stay paid (paid)

[Chorus: x7]

[B.I.G.:] (Goodness gracious)
Gettin' money
[B.I.G.:] (Tha papers)
Gettin' money
[B.I.G.:] (Get paid)