Back In The Lab chords by J.R. Writer
Verse 1
F
Writer, okay, uh, I got him, just that, uh
Dm
Em
Back to the lab, wrap in a bag,
Am
roll me a blunt, pass me a pack,
your dude's goin' in
F
I mastered the craft,
Dm
Em
laugh at the past,
Am
fo' in the trunk, mash in the gas,
you're too slow to win
F
Who's dope as him?
Dm
Em
Am
Late in the line, so high,
you would swear he had a license to fly
F
Look up, you might even
Dm
see him right in the sky
Am
So high, I should give skydiving a try
F
Know why? I'm getting loot and bread
Dm
Em
Got these little dudes fed
Am
Cause this rap shit to me
is easier than Superhead
F
That easy?
Dm
When she move to bed, prick,
Em
I'm on the grind
Grind
Am
Lyrically inclined,
every sentence get rewinded
Rewinded
F
The kid is in his prime Prime
Dm
Em
A monster on the track
Track
Am
Taunting all these cats
Where's the competition at?
Where they at?
F
They all spin crack
Crack
Dm
Em
The Carter couldn't match
Am
Match Sharper than a tack
Whole Harlem on his back Harlem
It's a fact, you couldn't yell
R or shit, it's whack
I helped build the team
and put Harlem on the map
Come holla at a Mack,
Dm
who got this in the raps
Am
The next album
Dm
F
I had your girl polishin' his plaits
Dm
Uh, uh, then it's right to the street
Em
Am
Light on my feet,
goonies that'll light you for cheap
F
Wipe you deceased,
Dm
knife you to sleep
Em
Put some sneaks
Am
even though my pockets deep
F
It's Barry White on the beat, sheesh
Dm
I'm a beast with a flow like a jazz
Em
Am
Puss the game so weak
that the throne's up for grabs
F
So I'm low on the ass,
Dm
Am
with the toast on my abs
Waitin' for the spit
so I can put the hoe in the bag
F
It's sad, but nigga,
Dm
Em
I'm a pro with the past
Am
Put the mic there,
you're washed up and old as my dad
F
You're loaded with swag,
Dm
Em
you couldn't fly without a pilot
Am
You're bummed out
and better off finding you a stylist
F
Dm
The future is me, and tuners can be
Em
Am
Ruge an d T, shoot you for free,
salute to the G
F
Who's nothing but nicer,
Dm
gunnin' the cypher
Em
Am
Bottom line,
ain't nobody out as hungry as Ryder
Dm
Uh! Huh, you hear that, man?
Am
F
Y 'all can't fuck with me at all, man
Dm
F
Am
Dm
I got this shit on lock and key
And I think I might've lost the key,
so y 'all assed out, man
Huh
Am
Let me get my zone though, man
Let me finish smokin' this purple,
countin' this money
And, uh, turn the music up
and get in my zone, man
Let's do it
Back In The Lab
J.R. Writer
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