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[Fabolous]: They call me G-H-E-T-T-O Black star power, like B-E-T shows I'm usually pullin' 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 fucka Lay flat sucka Im 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 Knows I'm here to get that money, yeah [Chorus - Missy Elliot (Fabolous)]: Heeey, now get that money, keep them rims spit shiiine Twenty-four shoes on my Hummer, and they fittin' tiiight Fabolous and Missy, sickalicious, riiight? If you hater make my gun go (Blocka, blocka, blocka, blow) [Fabolous]: They call me F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S You just lay down slow (nigga) Know this before this, tray pound blow Spit game, get dames to lay down low I'm da poppy chulo, the cops say the tops on the drops is too low I shop til I drop, when I'm coppin' new clothes Bop in the hop, but don't stop to use hos I'm that new dude, that include Making sure silencers in the gat is screwed With an "it don't 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 [Missy Elliot (Fabolous)]: You say you rich, then come and talk that shit to me (Blocka, blocka, blocka, blocka) Buy your DVD's and TV's, but I like shoes on my Jeep (Blocka, blocka, blocka, blocka) 24-inch wheels, and a good gold grill in the front (Blocka, blocka, blocka, blocka) Gotta closet made for big clothes Gotta do more than treat me to lunch [Chorus] [Fabolous]: They call me William H. period Bonnie I ride in a seven series with Tommie's I make another one of America's hotties And I'm that serious mami I'm "The One," liek 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 than 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 in your belly chain And just to beat the traffic, hop in a helly man [Chorus]