Get It Right

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Mel Jason Smalls (born January 4, 1979), better known as Drag-On, is an American rapper from The Bronx, New York City. more »


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Drag-On, niggas act on
Messin' wit' the team, it's gon' be a sad song
X will bring the day and the night
Cause we get it right, get it right, get it right, spit it right

Moves is made, niggas is paid, that's just how it is
When my time is up, I'm a be out, but I'm a try to live
I'm eatin' day by day, ain't nothin' sweet about it
Act like you don't know what I'm sayin' then you read about it
Built for war like a armadillo
Smokin' yo' ass, put two through the pillow
Hear my shit through windows
Manic depressive, and my head hurts
Soon as the dead thirst, I'll wet him first
Now wait a minute, it gets worse
I can't control what I own inside
So I take it out on the soul of that kid that died
Spit fire, cross niggas like barbecues
Mobbin' crews, strippin' niggas, robbin' crews
And put him speechless when I made him eat this
Hollow tip, and you can follow grip
You be like Kim and ain't gon' swallow shit
Don't know the half, couldn't know the math
To understand the wrath of a man split in half
But he got what he wanted, shot for three hundred
Shit is tight, and a nigga that's right gots to run it
Ain't no question, that's how I get down
Niggas know gimme yo' dough and yo' ho, and, here, take these fo'
Hot things, I got things that make niggas spin
Put niggas in the wind where you never see niggas again
Bless a nigga with fifties, the thin types
And a straight blade that'll put pinstripes across your windpipe

[Chorus: x2]

Drag opposite water more than a spot order
My flows cause fire then bring holes
Takes more than a pump to out this little punk
'Less that pump is a twelve, and I get popped, still I burn to Hell
Call the police, and whatever they don't seize
And put in they mouth, and catch freeze, tell 'em throw Drag some keys
Don't care how many oyeas I gotta make believe
If you nervous, you don't deserve it poppi, please
Cats stealin' gats, y'all probably will get hit
Well, I'm the future, let's see y'all copy this, stopping this
Since a tiny kid like, "mommy, buy me this."
Since she always told me no, started stealin' on some grimy shit
Like look at that, now look at that slide, it in my book bag
I'm who parents point they fingers at, "get from that hood rat."
And put it back, f*ck tough while y'all cook crack
I'm cocaine, throw me in the pot, I rise to the top
With your 5.0, go 'head, look ma, I got four more pegs
Still put them holes in yo' head, till it's mushy like dough bread
'Cause that vest only protects that chest
And if I decide to get ice, don't get to fascinated
Or it's my bullet, your brain, mashed potatoes
Double R got me comin' hard on you haters
'Cause we the streets black, and y'all belong beneath that

[Chorus: x2]

 Become A Better Singer In Only 30 Days, With Easy Video Lessons!


Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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"Get It Right Lyrics." STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 15 Dec. 2019. <>.

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