Lyrics

[Intro: Master P] Huh, it's like this here, player (Ain't no rules in the ghetto) It ain't really 'bout the dollar value (Huh) It's 'bout the principle A life ain't worth nothing (You know?) Any nigga come shizzout on mines (You hear what I'm saying?) I'm gon' handle that there (Huh, gon' handle that) Gon' show these motherfuckers I ain't playing (That's the American way) I mean I'm kicking up crack houses, knocking motherfucking doors in 'cause I gotta get mine [Chorus: Master P] Time to check your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cheese, we gon' take you Time to get your fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you Get your fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you [Verse 1: Master P & Mr. Serv-On] Went half on a ki' with my partner Mr. Serv-On Eighteen OZs, add it up, nigga, that's half, holmes Opened up shop on 6th and Baronne Street The fiends walkin' around, every nigga out there know me Hit 'em on the beeper, nigga, it's on I done sold sixteen, I'm on my way home Two came up short, somebody must be smokin' P grab that HK, nigga, we ain't jokin' Bullets got no good name A powder bag of that good 'caine 1997 Tony Montana of the dope game Some call me Frank Nitty, 'cause I ain't taking no shorts I'm aimin' that beam at your motherfuckin' heart Let the windows down on my green Eddie Bauer A 187 for this crystal white powder Told Serv-On cut those lights off and creep That's when we put them cockroaches to sleep Cruise up Drive to Erato to the 3rd Ward Professional execution, fuck a murder charge [Chorus: Master P] Time to get your fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you Time to get your fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you Time to get your fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you Time to get your fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you [Verse 2: Master P & Mr. Serv-On] I'm paranoid, I can't sleep, I think my phone tapped Rest in peace to lil' Jacob, in the Calliope, got kidnapped Now I'm trippin' on shit, I ain't slippin' on shit We carry gats and shit, bulletproof vests case niggas talkin' shit Wanna creep up on us killers, drug dealers Ghetto millionaire, real niggas and bitches feel us Fake niggas step back, jackers meet my chrome gat They killed my cousin full and ghost, it's never come back It's an eye for an eye in this dope game Niggas are losing their life flippin' that heroin and cocaine I trust nobody but my nickel-plated nina Have you seen her? Fuck with my greens, nigga, you gon' meet her Meet your maker, one-way ticket to Jamaica Now your bitch with me and I'ma fuck her, then break her Ain't no rules in this dope game But don't get high on your own supplies, man But if you fuck with soldiers you cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs 'Cause niggas in my hood losin' they life for thrill and cook rocks [Chorus: Master P] The fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you Get your fetty, check your paper Come short with the cream, we gon' take you [Verse 3: Mr. Serv-On] Hit the block in the purple Caddy, got you bitches callin' me daddy Got some ounces in the trunk, nigga, they goin' fast, so what the fuck you want? Slangin' them green birds and lemon drops Puff a pound of that Cali green, servin' fiends, dyin' fast like fifties Which one of you niggas tryna short me? Big Mo, take me to the Calliope so I can see Slim Get the Desert Eagle and paint these bitches like a candy-painted Regal Now I'm ready to set shop like Bugsy Siegel On the parkway, you bitches gonna die my way Call my nigga Cujo, it's goin' down Check my fetty, nigga