Get Paid

Styles

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    Can Holiday get some of this motherfucking paper around
    here please?
    Shit, I'm fucked up
    I aint the lyin type

    [Brodhead Kids]
    Can I get paid
    I'm just tryin to make some cash
    I'm just tryin to make some cash

    [Verse 1]
    I told you I ball for dope
    I'm in a Caucasian Jag wit a bag knockin hauler notes
    Spendin 200 G's in the fall for coats
    You could call me alotta things but don't call me
    broke
    and I told you I bust my steel
    I stay cuffed in the bullpen like P you bout to fuck
    up your deal
    but I told you I make my bail
    I'm at home in the alcohol bath tryin to shake the
    jail
    and I'm pickin up my automatics, automatically
    I got a bad habit, makin people mad at me
    Dog, I'm just tryin to get paid
    Cop some jewels too, act like a fool too, run and get
    laid
    Ten million for the crib put the gun on the maid
    Weed on the chefs, so I can get high with the meal
    Got to get my head right 'fore I fly to Brazil
    Make my sheets outta hundreds so I can lie in a mil,
    what up

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    [HOOK: The Brodhead Kids]
    Can I get paid
    I'm just tryin to make some cash
    I'm just tryin to make some cash
    Can I get paid
    I'm just tryin to make some cash
    I'm just tryin to make some cash

    [Verse 2]
    Dog, you'd be pleased to kick it
    I'ma call up my NBA niggas get some season tickets
    Catch me in the skybox in any arena
    I won't be happy til I cop my niggas 50 medinas
    But I'm tryin to be realistic, and I get really
    twisted
    So I'm settlin for seventy beamers
    Somebody call Bill Gates, tell him meet with the
    streets
    One on one so I can get some real cake
    Tryin to see my shit in the Forbes, Trump tower for
    'self
    so you know I'm still pitchin the boy
    and the niggas need lottery numbers
    Charge this ?? freak DeCalis and Hummers
    Blow smoke in the sky till the Air Force come
    Cop 50,000 pair of Air Force Ones
    and if I can't live it up, then I'm runnin up
    in the record label tellin everybody give it up, what
    up

    [HOOK]

    [Verse 3]
    I kill lemonade peeps
    It's Holiday with the fruit punch Ferarri and the
    lemonade seats
    Face look really aggy, jeans really baggy
    Fitted hat, white T and some Bruno Maglies
    Doublin and flippin
    You understand I need a house so big I need a shuttle
    to the kitchen
    That's why I keep the 45 government edition
    sofa costs a hundred, so do the love seat
    The big screen is crazy and I'm lovin the conditions
    I got a vision and it's cash involved
    Can I get paid, or you get sprayed
    It be the only damn question that I'm askin y'all,
    what up

    [HOOK]

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