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Master PMaster P 

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Master P

Percy Robert Miller Sr. (born April 29, 1967), better known by his stage name Master P or his business name P. Miller, is an American former rapper, actor, entrepreneur, investor, and producer. He is the founder of the popular label No Limit Records, which went bankrupt and was relaunched as New No Limit Records through Koch Records. followed by Guttar Music Entertainment, Take A Stand Records and No Limit Forever Records. He is the founder and CEO of P. Miller Enterprises, an entertainment and financial conglomerate and Better Black Television. more »

Year:

1998

4:44

76 Views

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Ugh! Ha ha! 
Ooh! Huh? P what's up boy? 
What's up 40 boy? 
Talk to me weepilation. 
Dey don't know we been doin' dis. 
Last Deezy  Last Don. 
Bay Area playa nigga. 
This E Feezy Fonzareezy your weepilation up out the 
Yea Area all day everytime. 
Like dis here. 
Element of surprise. 
Da Last Don  
Charlie Hustle. 
Check it out. 

Let it be writ and said, done and published 
That on the sixth month of June 1998 
E-40 Fonzarellie A-K-A Charlie Hustleezy 
And my Third Ward weepilation 
From the No Limit Records Headquarters and congregation 
Plugged up and did a rumble together without no hesitation and erased 
Any Old School classic memories of Northern California 
Godzilla ballin' and Bay stranglin' and hustlin'
Morning, night, day in Norleans 
And dang near fallin' asleep on the freeway 
Bobbin and weavin' and ditchin' and dodgin' po-po, Penelope force 
Tryin' to convince em that me and the dope game wasn't gettin' along any how 
We had been went our separate ways 
Shit, we been had a divorce 
In and out of court, betta' yet 
Neva was married any how and engaged 
Pushed in the game at a young age, trapped in a ghetto cage 
Went from hardly any to, uh, plenty of cash 
To, uh, high speed chases to, uh, makin a dash 
Uh, excuse me sir can I have your autograph 
And, uh, when your new album droppin fool 
That other shit was cool 

[Chorus]
Get your money man, get your paper 
Get your paper man, get your money 
Get your fettie or your scratch, get your skrill 
Get your revvies man, get paid 
Get your mail man, get your marbles 
Get your marbles man, get your mail 
Get your grits, get your chettah, get your chips 
Get your snaps man, get paid 

Ugh! Ball wit da real, hang wit da Gs 
Started from Richmond, California to New Orleans 
Game won't change, these niggas can't fade me 
Mama still pray for baby 
Ghetto got me sick, dope fiends and crack heads 
Niggas on da front porch wit tech nines and lemon heads 
And all I want be is a soldier 
Cause I'm tired of runnin' from da rollas 
Jumped in da rap game and now dey can't hold us 
Ghetto millionaires and still blowin' doja 
Keep my composure when times hectic 
Now I own a house in California, Orlando, and Texas 
And still run wit the thug niggas 
And made tapes for bitches and drug dealas 
And push 600 wit a bulletproof 
The ghetto Bill Gates 
The only president wit a gold tooth 

[Chorus]

Uh, n-neva let your guards down 
Always play defense neva offense 
Cause suckas a try to make your kindness for weakness 
And damn sho try to shake your hand up unda falsified pretenses 
Sequence this
Paint a portrait of these next events 
See if you can predict what I was about to say 
Within the next couple of sentences 
Technically impossible 
To hard to call 
See right when he thought I was gone throw a slider 
I threw him a knuckle ball 
Back against the wall, knockin' niggas out (knockin' niggas out) 
Hemmed up in da corner nigga that's what I'm about 

Feel my pain, sometimes I feel trapped 
Nigga tired of hangin' in the ghetto takin' food stamps 
Cause this street life got me crazy 
But I hustle cause I gotta feed a baby 
And only God can take me 
And ain't no nigga in this hood gone play me 
So when I ball I'm a ball til I fizall 
And when I'm gone put my name on the wizall 

[Chorus]

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