| You got a motherfuckin' cheque in your pocket
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| Pull it out right now and contribute
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| Uh, yeah, I’m standin' at a table full of trappers
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| I pop a Perc and take off like it’s NASA
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| My niggas, they don’t rap, but look like rappers
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| Cause when we get that work, we flip it backwards, Lord
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| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin'
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| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin' it
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| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin'
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| If you don’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin' it
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| I met a bitch from uptown, I’m like, «Woah»
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| Patrón shots, a couple of rounds, she like, «Woah»
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| My niggas ain’t fuckin' around, they gon' go
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| Think I’m a spend a cheque on that pussy, I’m like, «No»
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| I put your bitch in a Phantom, that shit big as a planet
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| Got some bitches in Paris that speakin' French like Montana
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| Got a bitch in the projects, she be holdin' her hammer
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| Landed in California, 'bout to go to Atlanta
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| To meet my bitch from Miami, she want beef on the table
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| I moonwalk in that pussy, she thinkin' Billie Jean
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| I got a TEC sittin' on the step and that’s on the set
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| Here I go, ring a nigga neck all about a cheque, yeah, I know
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| I’m standin' at a table full of trappers
|
| I pop a Perc and take off like it’s NASA
|
| My niggas, they don’t rap, but look like rappers
|
| Cause when we get that work, we flip it backwards, Lord
|
| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin'
|
| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin' it
|
| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin'
|
| If you don’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin' it
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| You ran up on my set and tried to knock us
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| They heard I’m wit' the killers and the robbers
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| If I don’t fire hammers and the choppers
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| I be ridin' 'til they free Wavie Crockett
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| Khaki sippin' dirty at the house
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| My niggas, you don’t rap cause you can’t stop us
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| Blood, he poppin' me and J. Lo in the projects
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| Nigga, you couldn’t see us wit' binoculars
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| Hook game like coppers, brick squad like Flocka
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| Let the birds fly like it’s falcons, ball like
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| This that vintage Chanel, drinkin', twistin' cigars
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| Mixin' Cris in the dark, cryin', grippin' the odds
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| Hit my man up, I had to go
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| Bulletproof sprinter, I be ridin' like the Pope, Montana
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| I’m standin' at a table full of trappers
|
| I pop a Perc and take off like it’s NASA
|
| My niggas, they don’t rap, but look like rappers
|
| Cause when we get that work, we flip it backwards, Lord
|
| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin'
|
| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin' it
|
| If you ain’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin'
|
| If you don’t got no paper, you ain’t poppin' it |