[Intro: JPEGMAFIA]
Get the fuck up
(Brrt, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow)
Huh (N***a)
Get the fuck up
(Wow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow)
Uh, fuck boy, get the fuck up
Get up off yo' ass, n***a
(Blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow)
Ahh, damn, get the fuck up
(Blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow)

[Verse 1: Cakes Da Killa]
Disenfranchised, screamin' yup in my white tee
Me not gettin' to the money, unlikely
Somethin' cocky, the stiffest dicks couldn't top me
Fuck that cute shit, all the subbin' don't excite me
Rather get my nails done, sip on somethin' icy
Catch me out in Sydney, sippin' on a iced tea
Always on the hustle, ain't no time for the link up
Readjust my rhythm so these listeners can keep up
How I give you clout, you turn around and try to son me
Bitch, I made a way for you faggots to get your money
Minked in the winter, mesh crop when it's sunny
Can't afford to act funny when you gettin' to the money
Gettin' too close, please don't touch
I ain't say "Simon says," n***a, please back up (Back up)
Passport stuntin', you MTA bummin'
Don't address the fuckin' judge unless I hit you with a summons
[Verse 2: Ritchie with a T]
Check it, yo, what's up, n***a?
Simon says door's open, donut the truck, n***a
Tuck in your chain, throw 'bows in the function
If a n***a ain't like it, tell him, "Back up, n***a"
Yuh, get back, n***a
I ain't really fuckin' with none of these rap n***as
We be bumpin' yo' shit, sittin', just fact-checkin'
We be bumpin' yo' shit, sittin just laugh, n***a
I don't wanna be that n***a
Shit, I ain't gonna be that n***a
Shit changed, they don't wanna see that n***a
You like Stacey Dash on BET, my n***a
If you pray, can you pray for these n***as?
And if you don't, can you pour one out for these n***as?
Simon says, "Get your own sound, lil' n***a"
All these cover bands lookin' like clowns, lil' n***a

[Bridge: Ritchie with a T]
Everywhere we go
I ain't trippin', I ain't playin' with y'all
I ain't trippin', I ain't playin' with y'all n***as
I ain't sittin', I ain't politicin', hatin' on y'all
I ain't really go on wait on y'all n***as
Y'all be rippin', ain't no real innovatin' involved
I ain't, I ain't hatin' on y'all, just had to tell you n***as 'bout it
[Verse 3: Stepa J. Groggs]
Some of y'all take off fast, but forget distance
This a marathon, not a sprint, there's a big difference
Way too quick to react, save that for Quint
Got the game upset like the '04 Pistons
Fuck it, mask on, I'm so ready to rip 'em
I ain't pourin' out shit, but I will take a shot for 'em
Shit, your mans talkin' bad like this is not for him
Tell that shit to your mans then, not forums
I ain't got to say we hot, let the fans do it
Try to pass on us, you shoulda ran, stupid
Malcolm Butler on that ass, interceptin' trash
I told y'all, a box in the sand won't ever last
No, for real, no, for real
I really, I really tried to tell these n***as too, that's what's funny
Malcolm Butler on that ass, interceptin' trash
I told y'all, a box in the sand won't ever last

[Outro: JPEGMAFIA]
(Yeah, all these [?])
Get the– get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck– get the fuck up
Get the fuck– get the fuck up
Get the fuck– get the fuck– get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck– get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the– get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up
Get the fuck up, get the fuck up