Gold chords by GZA
Verse 1
Am
A-yo shorty, shorty, yo that's my word
Oh, y'all smelling y'all piss
F
now y'all think y'all gold
Em
Yo anybody get caught flinging
Eb
F
Over here, I'm returning 'em,
Em
Eb
that's my word they get ting blasted
D
Eb
Anything from 220 to
F
140, that's mine
Y'all need to step the fuck
F#dim
off
Gm
G#
Ebaug
Y'all niggas ain't crazy for real
G
Yo, the
Verse 2
F
Em
fiends ain't coming fast enough
Eb
Daug
There is no cut that's
F
pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold,
Daug
Eb
I re-up and and reload
G#
Eb
Product must be sold to you
G
I'm deep down in the back
Verse 3
Am
streets,
in the heart of Medina
About to set off something more deep
than a misdemeanor
Under the subway,
waiting for the train to make noise
F
Am
So I can blast a nigga and his boys,for what?
He pushed up on the block
and made the dope sales drop
Dm
Like the crash in the Dow Jones stock
Am
I had a connect to cross-sales,
to to catch more mill's
Than ho-bitches got got
birth control pills
I'm in the park setting up
a deal over blunt fire
Bum nigga sleeping on the bench,
F
they had him wired
Am
Peeped my convo, the address
of my condo
And how I changed a nigga
F
name to John Doe
Am
And while we set up camp,
we got vamped
Put the stake through his heart,
F
I ripped his fucking fangs apart
Am
Snake got smoked on the set
like Brandon Lee
Blown out the frame like
Pan Am Flight 103
He got swung on, his lungs was torn
A kingpin just castled with his
Dm
rook and lost a pawn
Am
A regular on the block that played lookout
For playing predator with a
F
Glock, he should have took out
Verse 4
E
No neighbourhood is rough enough
Eb
D
Daug
F
There is no clip that's full enough
I can't fold, I need gold,
F#dim
Eb
I re-up and and reload
G#
G
Product must be sold to you
Verse 5
F
Em
Fiends ain't coming fast enough
Eb
D
Daug
There is no cut that's
F
pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold,
D
I re-up and and reload
Eb
G#
Eb
Product must be sold to you
Ebaug
It's mandatory that I
Verse 6
Am
supply
all my troops with mega firearms
Big apes and spread 'em out like
crops on a farm
To get cream,
sometimes they repaint the scene
Like the last episode on gates,
F
and other niggas
Am
Plant bombs till the smoke
from the blast becomes thick
And flows through, all they knew,
F
he's gun sick
Am
His Glock clicks like high-heeled
shoes shoes on parquet floors
F
Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars
Am
Filthy foul, shovelling dirt,
he's out to hurt
For instance, chop off hands,
attack worth
His idols would lock down
airports and extort
Some import,
F
catching ten percent of what the fiends snort
Am
Up in the ski resorts, up in hills
They move keys and had the skis
making drops on snowmobiles
The plan was to expand, catch seven figures,
release triggers
And live large and bigger
F
than my nigga
Am
Who promised his moms
a mansion with mad room
She died and he still put a hundred
Dm
grand in her tomb
Am
Open wounds,
he hid behind closed doors
And still organized his crime
F
and drug wars
Verse 7
Am
Fiends ain't coming fast enough
There is no cut that's pure enough
F
Am
I can't fold, I need gold,
I re-up and and reload
F
Product must be sold to you
Verse 8
Am
E
No neighborhood is rough enough
Am
There is no clips that's full enough
F
Am
I can't fold, I need gold,
I re-up and and reload
F
Product must be sold to you
Verse 9
Am
There's no cuffs that's tight enough
There is no niggas that's fuck with us
F
Am
I can't fold, I need gold,
I re-up and and reload
Dm
Product must be sold to you
Outro 1
Am
F
Am
F
E
Eb
D
F
F#dim
G
G#
G
Am
E
Eb
D
F
G
G#
G
Am
Gold
GZA
Speed: 1.0x
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