[Hook x2 - K. Jayz]
I'ma get mines, y'all n***as can get yours
I'ma get mines, y'all n***as can get yours
I'ma get mines, y'all n***as can get yours
I'ma get mines, y'all n***as can get yours
[Verse 1 - K. Jayz]
I remember when I used to be a nobody
At least I thought so, so I did not f** with e'rybody
But then all of a sudden I picked up a pen to write some lyrics
Then started rapping
I don't even know how it happened
A mystery
But as I continued, I really noticed the society
Ain't nobody give a f** about each other
Individualism, everybody losing propriety
But then again, who can really blame ya?
You don't know
If you in trouble, who would save ya
Who would come out the blue just to your rescue?
That's why we say, “I'ma do me, and you gon' do you”
Now, I don't care for nobody but my fam
If you ain't in my circle, b**h, you ain't in my plans
I'ma grab hip hop by the hair, do her right
Don't worry about me, n***a, I'ma get mines
[Hook]
I'ma go ahead and pa** it to Mr. Shakur
[Verse 2 - 2Pac]
Mind on my money, money on my mind
Finger on the trigger, n***a, hand on my nine
Smoking blunts a skunk, making hoes of punks
And only underground funk pumping outta my trunk
Live the life of a hustler: high till 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 motherf**ers
I live the thug life, baby, I'm hopeless
Choking off indo trying 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 hustling
Pour out some liqour for my n***as, 2Pac is still struggling!
My n***a Breed knew the time
Whether it's ryhme or crime, n***a, I gotta get mine
[Interlude - MC Breed & 2Pac]
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours X2
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
[Interlude]