| Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| Yeah, uh, uh, yeah, uh, uh
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| They call me G H E T T O
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| Get Black Star power, like B E T shows
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| I’m usually pullin' up in the G T slow
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| Flashing my ring finger with the E T glow
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| I’m that nucca, act rucka
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| Certified plat nucca
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| Semi-auto, gat bucca
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| Take that fucka, lay flat sucka
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| I’m the Negro, amigo
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| Get every bay from Tampa to Montigo
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| They say I got the lifestyle, and the E glow
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| I’m in the blow range, no matter where he go
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| I’m that homie, gat on me
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| I’m the kid not that phony
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| Anybody that know me
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| Knows I’m here to get that money, yeah
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| Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
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| 24 shoes on my Hummer
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| And they fitting tight, Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
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| If you a hater make my gun go, blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka
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| They call me F A B O L O U S
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| You just lay down slow, nigga
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| Know this before this, trey pound blow
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| Spit game, get dames to lay down low
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| I’m da poppy cholo
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| The cops say the tops on the drops is to low
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| I shop till I drop, when I’m coppin' new clothes
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| Bop in the hop but don’t stop to use hoes
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| I’m that new dude, that include
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| Making sure silencers in the gat is screwed
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| With an, 'It Don’t Even Matter' mood
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| And a, 'Fuck You, Pay Me', attitude
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| I’m that young boy, that slung boy
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| That’ll have 'em saying, where you get that from, boy?
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| I’m still leaving niggas, at one choice
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| So, run when you hear, that gun noise, blat
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| You say you rich, then come and talk that shit to me
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| (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
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| Buy your DVD’s and TV’s but I like shoes on my Jeep
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| (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
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| 24-inch wheels and a good gold grill in the front
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| (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka)
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| Gotta closet made for big clothes
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| Gotta do more then treat me to lunch, uh huh
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| Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
|
| 24 shoes on my Hummer
|
| And they fitting tight, Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
|
| If you a hater make my gun go, blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka
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| They call me William H period Bonnie
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| I ride in a seven series with Tommie’s
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| I make another on of America’s hotties
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| And I’m that serious, Mommy
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| I’m the one like the Jet Li flick, the private jet ski’s sick
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| The motors on the jet ski’s quick
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| The clips in the sets be thick
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| And I done slipped more shots in then Gretzky’s stick
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| I’m the one like Penny Hardaway’s number
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| That’s why dudes say it’s hard to keep my broad away from ya
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| Once your bitch, get the god 2-way number
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| It’ll be hard to get a 'Happy Father’s Day' from ya
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| I’m the one, like the piece that’s on Nelly chain
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| You can’t reach me, I’m out of your celly range
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| Bitch, I’ll even put canary’s up in your belly chain
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| And just to beat the traffic, hop in a helly main
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| Hey, now get that money, keep them rims spichey
|
| 24 shoes on my Hummer
|
| And they fitting tight, Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right?
|
| If you a hater make my gun go, blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka |