Paper with Brian B Shynin Intro - Tech N9ne

This is your big homie Bryan B Shynin from Hot 103 Jams, host of underground

heat

This next one is called «Paper», from that Tech N9ne Collabos, The Gates Mixed

Plate, baby!

Boy I’m 'bout my presidents

Benjamins and Jacksons

My name Jay Rock, a.k.a. get paper if you askin'

Catch me out in traffic

Traffic insult n' tragic

That magic trynna get that Frank Lucas and Ricky Ross cabbage

Find me on the freeway

Doin' deals on the 3 way

If you don’t got my paper that chopper split you in 3 ways

My money runnin, it should be in some relays

No candles on my cake but everyday be my b-day

Comin' out that gutta, bitch I’m 'bout my dollas

Me and Tech up at the bank, takin' them paper showers

Who gives a fuck what you think, broke niggas envy hard

Gats in my drawers, guns in the car

Knock a nigga off

It’s all about survival dawg

Get money, fuck bitches, rockstar

I’m 'bout my paper, you 'bout some paper?

Let’s do some business

If you cross me, hundred round magazine you gon' get your issue

Paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper

Do what we do to survive (gotta get it)

Paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper

Get it like a thief in the night (you know I’m gettin')

Paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper

I’m comin' for yours, now it’s mine (all about it)

Paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper, paper

Mind on money, money on my mind

I’ve sacrificed everything to get this fuckin' money

It’ll be a wrap just like a mummy if you try to get it from me

Think it’s funny

Try to get me when I’m lookin' stunny

Your blood and guts runny when I bust in the middle open up your tummy, yummy

Federal reserve note

Better know the darn ropes

Let her go with her folks, find out that she rollin' with your dope

Rats never deserve hope, put a knife where there were throats

Varicose veins are drained, and not a single word flows

Dollars made boss, holla raised cost

Cause all was in squalor because of all your days off

So I gotta get paid off, I’m a baller nay lost

Crosses and your wall lookin' like ragù and hollandaise sauce

I’ll make ya the yapa no fakin' a neighbor, forsake ya

But if your face is a hater I’ll erase your space on this place, ya

Better take the base out your trachea

I’mma waste your crepes and your Jäger

Not a fuckin' place will be safer

I’mma say that it’s scraped in my nature to chase the