Change chords by J.R. Writer
Verse 1
D
Bb
This perp will be having
G
me in his home, man
Bb
Think about a whole bunch of shit, man
D
Let get this off my chest real
Well, this rap shit has certainly changed
Bb
How could it ever work for these lames?
Duck hunt with all these
birds in the game
G
That's word to my game
Bb
D .I .P., you heard what I claim
D
Writer man, hottest thing
on this turf and terrain
I laugh, you ain't as great as you think
You hear that?
Bb
That's me laughing all
G
D
the way to the bank
G
Come play in the paint, I've been a pro
Bb
If it ain't a give and go,
D
I see it like it buys
That's what I call a pick and roll
Dig it though, I'm eating chump,
I don't need the front
Bb
Bm
Bb
Four projects within weeks and months
D
G
I ain't take a breather once know what?
Bb
It's easy punk, I'm top of the line
Rhyme for rhyme,
D
couple rocks and a rock chop
That means it's time to shine
Little guys behind,
Bb
but check it, I'm a ride for mines
If I was Superman,
D
the S would be a dollar sign
G
Bb
I ain't lyin', I be stylin' creep
D
How I'm cheap when seven days a week
I'm fresher than the bounty sheep
The bounty hunters couldn't
find this little town
Bb
I creep I lounge discreet
D
Some of my niggas meet
me down the street
G
They hailing the beast on
Bb
some starstruck shit
D
Cameras out like Britney Spears
on a Starbucks trip
Get your bars up, prick
Understand me,
Bb
these queens are canned
Throwin' jabs, but you Oscar
D
G
D
Wearing pins,
G
I dare you trainings get all remade
Bb
D
I'm called the fag, your album trash
The next one should come
in garbage bags
Lil' garbage ass could
never be a diplomat
Bb
This shit is whack, it's a fact
Bm
D
You bastards always bidding jacks
G
I get a cat that bring the ratchet
Bb
C
Where you living at?
D
Get your clapper, swing around in plastic
Like a wimpy bag
Now that's a Christmas rap
Go ahead with the chitter chat
Bb
With chitty chitty bang bang
D
All over your fitted cap
G
The kid is back
Bb
C
D
Drown in the mic, it's the king,
kiss the ring,
n***a bow to the knights
How I ain't nice, I spell for real,
G
that's really how I feel
Bb
I turn the street mixtape
D
into a album deal
G
I'm ballin' bills,
Bm
Bb
D
so till I touch the millions, boo
I'ma puff a spliff or two
and fuck up my periphery,
Ebm
Bb
G
you holla
D
Dm
D
Ebm
Bb
G
D
Oh
Outro 1
Bb
D
G
Bb
Dm
D
D
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J.R. Writer
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