[Intro: Master P]
Huh, it's like this here, player (Ain't no rules in the ghetto)
It ain't really 'bout the dollar value (Huh)
It's 'bout the principle
A life ain't worth nothing (You know?)
Any nigga come shizzout on mines (You hear what I'm saying?)
I'm gon' handle that there (Huh, gon' handle that)
Gon' show these motherfuckers I ain't playing (That's the American way)
I mean I'm kicking up crack houses, knocking motherfucking doors in 'cause I gotta get mine
[Chorus: Master P]
Time to check your fetty, get your paper
Come short with the cheese, we gon' take you
Time to get your fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
Get your fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
[Verse 1: Master P & Mr. Serv-On]
Went half on a ki' with my partner Mr. Serv-On
Eighteen OZs, add it up, nigga, that's half, holmes
Opened up shop on 6th and Baronne Street
The fiends walkin' around, every nigga out there know me
Hit 'em on the beeper, nigga, it's on
I done sold sixteen, I'm on my way home
Two came up short, somebody must be smokin'
P grab that HK, nigga, we ain't jokin'
Bullets got no good name
A powder bag of that good 'caine
1997 Tony Montana of the dope game
Some call me Frank Nitty, 'cause I ain't taking no shorts
I'm aimin' that beam at your motherfuckin' heart
Let the windows down on my green Eddie Bauer
A 187 for this crystal white powder
Told Serv-On cut those lights off and creep
That's when we put them cockroaches to sleep
Cruise up Drive to Erato to the 3rd Ward
Professional execution, fuck a murder charge
[Chorus: Master P]
Time to get your fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
Time to get your fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
Time to get your fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
Time to get your fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
[Verse 2: Master P & Mr. Serv-On]
I'm paranoid, I can't sleep, I think my phone tapped
Rest in peace to lil' Jacob, in the Calliope, got kidnapped
Now I'm trippin' on shit, I ain't slippin' on shit
We carry gats and shit, bulletproof vests case niggas talkin' shit
Wanna creep up on us killers, drug dealers
Ghetto millionaire, real niggas and bitches feel us
Fake niggas step back, jackers meet my chrome gat
They killed my cousin full and ghost, it's never come back
It's an eye for an eye in this dope game
Niggas are losing their life flippin' that heroin and cocaine
I trust nobody but my nickel-plated nina
Have you seen her? Fuck with my greens, nigga, you gon' meet her
Meet your maker, one-way ticket to Jamaica
Now your bitch with me and I'ma fuck her, then break her
Ain't no rules in this dope game
But don't get high on your own supplies, man
But if you fuck with soldiers you cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs
'Cause niggas in my hood losin' they life for thrill and cook rocks
[Chorus: Master P]
The fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
Get your fetty, check your paper
Come short with the cream, we gon' take you
[Verse 3: Mr. Serv-On]
Hit the block in the purple Caddy, got you bitches callin' me daddy
Got some ounces in the trunk, nigga, they goin' fast, so what the fuck you want?
Slangin' them green birds and lemon drops
Puff a pound of that Cali green, servin' fiends, dyin' fast like fifties
Which one of you niggas tryna short me?
Big Mo, take me to the Calliope so I can see Slim
Get the Desert Eagle and paint these bitches like a candy-painted Regal
Now I'm ready to set shop like Bugsy Siegel
On the parkway, you bitches gonna die my way
Call my nigga Cujo, it's goin' down
Check my fetty, nigga
