[MURS] Alright I'm ready No, you're not ready I'm ready, you're not ready Motherfucker (Indistinguishable singing) [MURS] Now this here's for your spouse or significant other You were in love with the person, now you hate the motherfucker Get the fuck out! Tell 'em to get the fuck out! You weren't lookin' for love when you met 'em at the club y'all exchanged numbers and went out for some grub You waited three days then decided to call Went for dinner and a movie, then a walk through the mall All you saw was the physical, a sexy individual Never had the thought that they would make your life miserable A couple more dates, consummate the mating ritual Soon you will encounter the habitual liar The sex was so good it set your body afire But why are you still with this nut? Every time they come around you get this feelin in your gut want to tell 'em, "Raise up," but your mouth stays shut When you stop to think about how good they fuck An' when the sex gets old you'll wind up stuck So here's some words of wisdom that'll help you with the chore Count up their I.Q. before you kick 'em to the door It goes: [Chorus: MURS] One, two, three, four I had it up to here and I'm not takin' no more So get the fuck out! You gots to get the fuck out! Everybody come on! One, two, three, four I had it up to here and I'm not takin' no more So get the fuck out! You gots to get the fuck out! Everybody! [MURS] Now say you have a homeboy who's been sleepin' on your couch For weeks on end and he's (words walk em out?) Get the fuck out! Tell him to get the fuck out! Now he walks around your house in nothin' but his drawers Throws the trash once a week and expects to get applause Let him stay at your crib you was down for his cause He was in between girls, or in between jobs But it's still no excuse for him to be a slob Your girl stays mad cause she's cleanin' up behind him You can't get your calls when he's on the other line an' You can't get laid cause he has the worst timin' Knockin' at your door at odd hours of the night If he does that shit again, you swear to God you're gonna fight But you can't kick him out cause it's just not right He has nowhere else to go, but you're losin' self-control want to kill him in his sleep, God bless his soul Maybe it's not that bad but it could get worse So here's a little tip from your homeboy MURS Before you tell him "Bounce," do a countdown first It goes: [Chorus] [MURS] Now let's talk about these old motherfuckers on the mic Who were dope but now are whack and won't leave the spotlight Get the fuck out! You gots to get the fuck out! He had some albums that I loved way back in the day But as he puts out new shit, the memories begin to fade When I heard about the comeback I said "No way!" I was waitin' on the real, the anticipation built But with age came degeneration of the skill So I pushed it to the back of my mind, and hoped in time Those fine memories would once again shine But he just won't stop, even though his album flop Everytime I turn around his new one's about to drop Make me want to take all his old records off the shelf Cause the man I now hear's a shadow of his former self So when he stopped on tour, in my town for a show I played a true fan and was in the front row As he started doin' classics, then he stopped and said "No" We had to say we love the new shit, before he did the old I tried to count the countdown, but then I lost control It went one, two, three, four I had it up to here, and I'm not takin' no more So get the fuck out! You gots to get the fuck out! Everybody come on! One, two, three...
Written by: MICHAEL WOODROW SR. JACKSON, NICHOLAS CARTER
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., DEFEND MUSIC, INC.
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