Ace Hood - Get Em Up Lyrics

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Ace Hood (Hey, Get Em Up)
Gutta (Hey, Get Em Up)
(Hey, Get Em Up) yea
(Hey, Get Em Up) Gutta, Gutta, Hey

[Verse 1]
I got my drop top rollin' and I'm heading to the mother land
Rippin' on that steering wheel, passenger's a duffel bag
Hundred in the Louie, don't confuse me with that other cat
Engine in the truck jack, pushing like a super pack
Automatic button pad just to keep the top back
Ruby red insides, Lamborghini fruit snacks
Twenty-two, that's what I shoot, you know them *****es got a mack
Back to the back of the lac incase them ***** *****s wanna jet
Know I keep that .45, turn you into Cabbage Patch
Hit you right between the eyes then leave you like an alley rat
100 for the bracelet, a track, I'm like a magnet
Hit 'em with that gutta swag, swangin' with the Louie rag

Say I maybe gave a damn but I never gave a ****
Rep your city like a G then put your middle fingers up
I got that east side rollin', and that west side smoke
South side rollin' wit me and the north side gon
Get Em Up (Hey, Get Em Up) [Repeat: x7]
You rep your city *****, gon' show it up

[Verse 2]
And it go, eenie meenie mini mo, catch me slippin' never though
Know I keep that full clip, come and get cha super soak
Call me Mr. Cinemax, shoot you like a movie role
Hundred on the highway, let's see how fast the coupe can go
New Edition fit the kid, they ship the **** from england
That's me in the foreign whip, climbing like the ring-a-lings
Yes, I'm on some other ****, don't know who you ****in wit
Yes, I keep that .45, you better keep a body guard
Benz is in the parking lot so you know the block is hot
Tell em we don't give a **** and mother **** the other side
***** you know I'm born to ride, H B and some murda minds
Open up the suicide doors, call it homicide


[Verse 3]
I got my black flag swangin' and I'm banging on some gutta ****
Just copped me a spaceship, took it from the government
White-on-white drop top, call that ***** a cool whip
Had to blow the brains out, yeah I keep it ruthless
Know you *****s mad but tell em haters I does it
Better quit that fussing, don't know what's in the bull pit
.45's a ************, hit you and your cousin
Think I gave a damn but I never gave a ****
Got that oven heated up and ***** you looking like lunch
Take them heaters to your gut like it's a million uppercuts
Then I dip off in the cut and throw it up, who give a ****?
Got that vodka in my cup, bring my gangsta to the front, what's up?



Track Listing
CD 1
  • 1 I Don't Give a Fuck
  • 2 Can't Stop
  • 3 Get Em Up
  • 4 Gutta
  • 5 Guns High
  • 6 Cash Flow
  • 7 Ride
  • 8 Fed Bound
  • 9 Stressin'
  • 10 Money Ova Here
  • 11 Can't See Yall
  • 12 Get Him
  • 13 Call Me
  • 14 Ghetto
  • 15 Top of the World
  • 16 Ride (remix)

  • Album Information
    label: Def Jam Recordings
    country(area): United States
    format: CD
    script: Latin