Chris Ward - Get Out Our Way lyrics

(*talking*) Uh, for the 2-theezie bout the cheezy Know me, naw I mean, hey Sensei, Mafia Mike, Whodi bout our paper Mobstyle for life, uh [Big Pokey] For my cream, I'll take it to the extreme A Glock and a three beam, plus a million dolla team Franchise like Ikeim, in these streets In studios split beats, with this verbal heat Dress code neat, from head to feet Jumping out the Benzo Jeep, with a petite freak Hit my point, sweep the flo' Call my Cuban connect, cop the snow I'm out the do' quick, with a block or mo' With a Glock on my hip, that'll stop the show Bout my do', rolling I'm about my hoe She disrespect my ways, then she got to go When I'm paid it's on, if I'm broke they gone Or I trick with a b**h, I choke my own And I put that, on the Stone When it come to my paper, n***a leave me alone [Hook - 2x] Please, get out of our way We don't have time, to play We're all about, our paper mayn [Chris Ward] I'm on a paper chase, gotta put it in these fakers face And if I get locked up, I'ma escape the place Cause there's no way, I'm doing time in jail I'd rather be burning up, frying in hell As I cry and yell, I keep my ear to the streets Listen and learn to earn, I got peers to defeat While these scandalous hoes b**hing, and foes snitching Friends turn into those wishing, my pockets on riches And I ain't got time for chatting, cause n***as be ratting Acting fly like Aladdin, they softer than satin I'ma leave they a** flatting like a mat, with they blood splatting For playing games with me, as if I'm Madden From H-Town to Manhattan, my flows swarm like bees I spit lyrical cheese, on cd's and lp's And when it comes to stacking G's, I'm about my pay But do like the song say, and get out the way [Hook - 2x] [Mafia Mike] Went from broke to cash, then first from last Or leave or now baby, no questions asked Gas up the cat, cause the Gator's gon mash Get out of my way, before I hit that a** Don't cause a scene, that's gon make me slash Then hit the beat so hard, it'll leave a gash And haters fall off, when they touch my stash My whole dress attire, is made with cla** Those, and ain't trying to get us left in the past I ain't trying to hot cap, or even flash I keep a pound of cash, stashed in my dash Full tank of gas, mean mug on my mask And those are like potatoes, they all get mashed Jackers irritate me, like a rash I gash that a**, ooh you little b**h a** n***a Come here hoe, I knock they chest in the gra** [Hook - 2x] (*talking*) Uh man, too serious mean that Mobstyle for life, Mobstyle for life Ha what, 2000 Dope Game two-thee In your face, 3D baby done one mo' And another and another and another We're dropping like bird sh** Ain't stopping, uh