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Yeah! Yeah, Busta Bust down, Flipmode now I know what y'all feel like doin Go 'head and crash your whip in the fuckin wall It's cool, niggas we gets busy Fo' sho', spit rogue, get mo' bout to kick in the door Dick sore, split whores 'til they shit on the floor Clique more sick from when you use to see us before Shit, kill a nigga quick, niggaz know my rapport Keep workers on the strip that be ready for war Brick I flip a little quicker if they shit in the store Rip, maybe 'til they drop, and they shit in they drawers Shit crazy when I pop, and I'm gripping the four Thick bitches in the spot, watch 'em strip for the sport Spit vicious for the block, yeah we swinging a torch Stick niggas for they shit, thank 'em for they support Quick nigga, better quit snitchin' down at the court Check track a little slick and try to go on my Forbes Cause we stacking like we rich, and we holding the fort This time, we had to bring it, guess what we brought The hottest shit to bang from L.A. to the streets of New York [Chorus] All my people, get drunk, get high, What-up? Get money, get rich, get fly, What-up? Get stupid, get busy, get live, What-up? Jump all in your whip, turn the key and drive, What-up? Make a mill' yeah we gon' make about five, What-up? We speak the truth and we ain't talkin no jive, What-up? I'm speakin to the streets and everybody's widdit, What-up? Once again you know we only come to get it, What-up? Aooww! Ha, I stay wicked now I'm back on the strip Like I went on a vacation and I'm back from my trip 'Nough radio rotation like I'm sailin a ship Or when the team circle the block, busy trailing my clique Truck packed full of niggasg with the strap and the whip Get the gat out of the stash, put it back on my hip Gat butt you in the face, split and fatten your lip Blood hit the floor louder than the clap when it drip I credit your name with bullets, read the back of the script My victim's initials engraved on the back of the clip Chicks love the way we roll, how the movement is thick So official like my name's on the back of your bitch Pay triple for the name on the back of the stitch Name like the whole city now I'm changing the pitch Kick back kinda crazy when I'm holding the fifth Think you nicer than the God, shit is only a myth Grab a hold of the masses, I was born with a gift Niggas be running they trap, throw 'em over the cliff Thinking and drinking the Guinness, busy holding the spliff Flipping and shitting on niggas 'til we old and we stiff I don't even drive whips, throw the shit on the lift 12 hours, one worker do the whole of the shift I do the thing to make you open your mouth And give you shit to bang the Midwest and the rest of the South [Chorus]
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Written by: James Dewitt Yancey, Trevor Smith
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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"What Up Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 23 Mar. 2023. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/5937983/Busta+Rhymes/What+Up>.
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