[Hook]
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, get yours
[Verse 1: MC Breed (2Pac)]
Aiyyo I'm Smooth as I wanna be, for p**y you's a gonna, G
(Oh, that's the way it is?)
f** yeah and that's the way it's gonna be
(Why), puffin up on tha dank and drinking mad brew
Taking names and after that I'm kickin a** too
Breed, time to flow (can I get a rhyme to go)
Hell yeah, Pac, I'll sit back, straight up design it slow
They hate to see a young n***a, (come up)
Another punk, (run up) and have to get his, (gun up)
Cause um I ain't takin no shots
Like a Newport fort, exploitin the floor like Jordan
Explodin on the hoop court.
And I don't wanna be, I-don't-wanna-be nuttin like Mike
Cause even Mike was like it's a itsy bitsy wet triflin
And when you in the spotlight, you get um jocked right
But your knot's not tight
Buckin anybody who f** wit' mine
When will they realize? I'm straight out to get mine
[Hook]
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, get yours
[Verse 2: 2Pac]
I keep my mind on my money, money on my mind
Finger on the trigger, n***a, hand on my 9
Smokin' blunts a skunk, making holes in punks
And only underground funk pumpin' outta my trunk
Live the life of a hustler, high 'til I die
Meeting b**hes, getting riches, miss me with lies
Picture me living out my life as a busta
I'd rather pop out a shot from my Glock and blast mothaf**as
I live the thug life, baby, I'm hopeless
Chokin' off indo, tryin' to keep my focus
Don't let that bullsh** worry me
f** the fame, I'm true to the game 'til they bury me
God gave me game, so I'm hustlin'
Pour out some liqour for my n***as, 2Pac is still strugglin'
My n***a Breed knew the time
Whether it's rhyme or crime, n***a, I gotta get mine
[Hook]
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, get yours
[Verse 3: MC Breed]
Now, tell me
Can you measure the amount of applause I keep gettin?
Everytime I pick up a mic and start spittin
The sidewalks of New York will start bumpin
Jumpin around, with the motherf**in pound
And I'm down to the fullest, and breakin n***as a** off proper
Did I shock you, cause I got you in my pocket again
Them new jacks and you jacks
Who knew me and my n***as, when I used to run it way back when
I boasted, and roasted, and coasted to the pinnacle
Because of what I do with a pen
It's vernacular precision
Connect the two lines and it's division
Plus, when I add lutes and flutes
It's guaranteed to sell like prostitutes
I never had love for hoes who put it blunt
And want me in the back, but, b**h, I'm in the front!
Don't front, and really I don't need a reply
Pull yourself together as you pa** me by
I'm on a whole another level, them hoes is left
I told you before, keep ya p**y to yourself
Goodbye, some many n***as lied to have
Funny what a motherf**er do for math
I got fractions caught up in my everday actions
Point equal to your real satisfaction
Buckin anybody who f** wit' mine
When will they realize, I'm straight out to get mine haha
[Hook]
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, get yours