Key: F# minor
Verse 1
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I
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was
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D
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born in 71' in Kansas City, MO
so the fam was pretty slow
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When it came to rap and
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Bm
R&B and plenty more
A
apostle
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A
Or written in the Bible, then it go
something then I end up doing it anyway
it's the evil music of today
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But, I really fell in love with the sound that was
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A
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coming out form the East Coast
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A
So we got it and twisted it up a bit,
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now the industry's having a heatstroke
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D
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Some say that rap is dead,
but when I get the white, black, and red
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And jump on the tour bus, do fifty eight shows,
then I'm back with a big black sack of bread
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A
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cause I'm here with a stack of fed
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or whatever
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the mic in hand with my rap at tire
A
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A
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And I like my fans spending
grands cause we got the fire
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I merchandise like 5 G's
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A
every half an hour
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An d you cry like a baby so your mic must be
Interlude 1
your pacifier
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Bm
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[Chorus: Repeat
Verse 2
them rapper's sounding like
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Wah wah wah (Crybaby)
Wah wah wah (Whatcha crying
bout?)
Verse 3
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A
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Eliminating player haters with their evil spirits
Verse 4
in the world there's a lot of dough to stack
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A
And the ones that wanna hold us back
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But notice that, I can put it right down
to where the shoulders at
off them chips they got
screwed and chopped
But you wanna get off in they pot
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A
'Cause they eighty fours be poking out
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F#m
A
What the hell is you cryin' bout?
but not for reala
Bout the method of making money
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A
By doin' it like I do it do the work
and believe in it
no problem achieving it
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Got on the mic with the intent to kill
Stronger than ever, and you a gimp for real
D
I drink Caribou Lou, and you drink Enfamil, chump
Bm
Interlude 2
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Bm
Verse 5
Bm
[Chorus:]
D
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You
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D
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should be clapping
when folk make it up outta the ghetto
Or trailer park,
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it don't matter even if he black or if he guerro
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you probably in a stiletto
Better yet in a baby shoe,
jealous or maybe you
Sick of me cause I'm making dinero
A
D
Bm
And you don't wanna get clapped at
You want a standing
ovation? I thought not!
F#m
You say you better than rappers on radio,
Try to run up on me,
A
'cause a benzo will never be in your car slot
my infra- red beam's right at your soft spot
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If you was on TV and balling you
wouldn't groan and trip
and bloodshed on his lip
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things on his whip
not stop the hop
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clock stops the shots
A
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And I can quickly bury you in your Osh Kosh B'Gosh,
baby
Outro 1
[Chorus:]
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D
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Bm
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