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Styles P - Get Paid Lyrics



Styles P - Get Paid Lyrics




Can Holiday get some of this motherf***ing paper around here please?
S***, I'm f***ed up
I ain't the lyin type

[Brodhead Kids]
Can I get paid
I'm just tryin to make some cash
I'm just tryin to make some cash

I told you I ball for dope
I'm in a Caucasian Jag wit a bag knockin hauler notes
Spendin 200 G's in the fall for coats
You could call me a lotta things but don't call me broke
And I told you I bust my steel
I stay cuffed in the bullpen like P you bout to f*** up your deal
But I told you I make my bail
I'm at home in the alcohol bath tryin to shake the jail
And I'm pickin up my automatics, automatically
I got a bad habit, makin people mad at me
Dog, I'm just tryin to get paid
Cop some jewels too, act like a fool too, run and get laid
Ten million for the crib put the gun on the maid
Weed on the chefs, so I can get high with the meal
Got to get my head right 'fore I fly to Brazil
Make my sheets outta hundreds so I can lie in a mil, what up

[Chorus: The Brodhead Kids]
Can I get paid
I'm just tryin to make some cash
I'm just tryin to make some cash
Can I get paid
I'm just tryin to make some cash
I'm just tryin to make some cash

Dog, you'd be pleased to kick it
I'ma call up my NBA n****s get some season tickets
Catch me in the skybox in any arena
I won't be happy til I cop my n****s 50 medinas
But I'm tryin to be realistic, and I get really twisted
So I'm settlin for seventy beamers
Somebody call Bill Gates, tell him meet with the streets
One on one so I can get some real cake
Tryin to see my s*** in the Forbes, Trump tower for 'self
So you know I'm still pitchin the boy
And the n****s need lottery numbers
Charge this freak DeCalis and Hummers
Blow smoke in the sky till the Air Force come
Cop 50,000 pairs of Air Force Ones
And if I can't live it up, then I'm runnin up
In the record label tellin everybody give it up, what up

[Chorus]

I kill lemonade peeps
It's Holiday with the fruit punch Ferrari and the lemonade seats
Face look really saggy, jeans really baggy
Fitted hat, white T and some Bruno Maglies
Doublin and flippin
You understand I need a house so big I need a shuttle to the kitchen
That's why I keep the 45 government edition
Sofa costs a hundred, so do the love seat
The big screen is crazy and I'm lovin the conditions
I got a vision and it's cash involved
Can I get paid, or you get sprayed
It be the only damn question that I'm askin y'all, what up

[Chorus]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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Can Holiday get some of this motherf***ing paper around here please?
S***, I'm f***ed up
I ain't the lyin type

[Brodhead Kids]
Can I get paid
I'm just tryin to make some cash
I'm just tryin to make some cash

I told you I ball for dope
I'm in a Caucasian Jag wit a bag knockin hauler notes
Spendin 200 G's in the fall for coats
You could call me a lotta things but don't call me broke
And I told you I bust my steel
I stay cuffed in the bullpen like P you bout to f*** up your deal
But I told you I make my bail
I'm at home in the alcohol bath tryin to shake the jail
And I'm pickin up my automatics, automatically
I got a bad habit, makin people mad at me
Dog, I'm just tryin to get paid
Cop some jewels too, act like a fool too, run and get laid
Ten million for the crib put the gun on the maid
Weed on the chefs, so I can get high with the meal
Got to get my head right 'fore I fly to Brazil
Make my sheets outta hundreds so I can lie in a mil, what up

[Chorus: The Brodhead Kids]
Can I get paid
I'm just tryin to make some cash
I'm just tryin to make some cash
Can I get paid
I'm just tryin to make some cash
I'm just tryin to make some cash

Dog, you'd be pleased to kick it
I'ma call up my NBA n****s get some season tickets
Catch me in the skybox in any arena
I won't be happy til I cop my n****s 50 medinas
But I'm tryin to be realistic, and I get really twisted
So I'm settlin for seventy beamers
Somebody call Bill Gates, tell him meet with the streets
One on one so I can get some real cake
Tryin to see my s*** in the Forbes, Trump tower for 'self
So you know I'm still pitchin the boy
And the n****s need lottery numbers
Charge this freak DeCalis and Hummers
Blow smoke in the sky till the Air Force come
Cop 50,000 pairs of Air Force Ones
And if I can't live it up, then I'm runnin up
In the record label tellin everybody give it up, what up

[Chorus]

I kill lemonade peeps
It's Holiday with the fruit punch Ferrari and the lemonade seats
Face look really saggy, jeans really baggy
Fitted hat, white T and some Bruno Maglies
Doublin and flippin
You understand I need a house so big I need a shuttle to the kitchen
That's why I keep the 45 government edition
Sofa costs a hundred, so do the love seat
The big screen is crazy and I'm lovin the conditions
I got a vision and it's cash involved
Can I get paid, or you get sprayed
It be the only damn question that I'm askin y'all, what up

[Chorus]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: DAVID STYLES, LOREN LUNNON
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Back to: Styles P



Styles P - Get Paid Video
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Performed By: Styles P
Length: 4:07
Written by: DAVID STYLES, LOREN LUNNON

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