They call me G-H-E-T-T-O Black star power, like B-E-T shows I'm usually pulling up in the G-T slow Flashing my ring finger with the E-T glow I'm that nucca, act rucka Certified plat nucca Semi-auto, gat bucca Take that fucker Lay flat sucker I'm the Negro, amigo Get every bay from Tampa to Montigo They say I got the lifestyle, and the E glow I'm in the blow range, no matter where he go I'm that homie Gat on me I'm the kid not that phony Anybody that know me Knows I'm here to get that money! Yeah!
[Chorus: Missy Elliott] Hey! Now get that money, keep them rims spichey! 24 shoes on my Hummer, and they fitting tight! Fabolous and Missy, Sickalicious right. If you a hater make my gun go (Blocka, blocka, blocka, blow!)
[Fabolous] They call me F-A-B-O-L-O You-S, you just lay down slow! (Nigga) Know this before this, trey pound blow (Uh-Huh) Spit game, get dames to lay down low (Ohh!) I'm da poppy cholo, the cops say the tops on the drops is to low I shop till I drop, when I'm coppin new clothes Bop in the hop, but don't stop to use hoes I'm that new dude, that include Making sure silencers in the gat is screwed With an it don't even matter mood And a "Fuck you, pay me" attitude I'm that young boy, that slung boy That'll have em saying, where you get that from boy I'm still leaving niggas, at one choice So run when you hear, that gun noise! (Blat!)
[Missy Elliott] You say you rich, then come and talk that shit to me (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka) Buy your DVD's and TV's, but I like shoes on my Jeep (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka) 24-inch wheels, and a good gold grill in the front (Blacka, blacka, blacka, blacka) Gotta closet made for big clothes Gotta do more then treat me to lunch
[Fabolous] They call me William H period Bonnie I ride in a seven series with Tommie's I make another on of America's hotties And I'm that serious mommy I'm the one, like the Jet Li flick The private jet ski's sick The motors on the jet ski's quick The clips in the sets be thick And I done slipped more shots in then Gretzky's stick I'm the one like Penny Hardaway's number That's why dudes say it's hard to keep my broad away from ya Once your bitch, get the god 2-way number It'll be hard to get a Happy Father's Day from ya I'm the one, like the piece that's on Nelly's chain You can't reach me, I'm out of your celly range Bitch I'll even put canary's up in your belly chain And just to beat the traffic, hop in a helly main