Rich Boy - Let's Get This Paper

R.I.P., Pooh Bear that my dead homie
Fuck that other shit, hey, let's get this bread, homie
Remember when they could catch a charge down in Atlanta
They underestimate me 'cause I'm comin' from Alabama
Martin Lee, innocent, he ain't even have a chance
They beat... him in that boot camp 'til he died in that ambulance
That boy was only fifteen years old, fuck what they say he did
So tell me how I'm 'posed to feel when police killin' kids?
And then we can't get a job, ridin' we get them pounds
If it ain't that coke then we get that 'dro and break it down
See that ice, the dope man paradise
Boy, better think twice that dope have you doin' life
They tore down the projects, so where we gon' move next?
They takin' them food stamps, they stop government checks
Hey, money, my motivator, my mouth, my money maker
No, I don't see them haters, so let's go get this paper +