Rewind Back chords by Cassidy, J.R. Writer
Intro 1
Em
A
C
Em
Yo,
Verse 1
yo, rewind back, it's a fact
I wasn't employed
I was trappin' in the trap,
duckin' the boys
C
I wasn't trappin' with the crack,
the customers annoyed
I kept them happy with a pack,
bundles of joy
Em
Oh, you ain't know why
I been a rebel,
flippin' I'm so dope
I tilt the kettle, skip a level
C
How you gon' back me down?
I don't quit or settle
Clappin' sideways at these clowns,
twistin' metal
Em
On your block,
them niggas dead you,
disrespect you
Come to think about it,
C
it's disrespectful
When I go to step, I ain't finna wrestle
Yeah, you might connect,
Em
but I would disconnect you
I know some niggas on the East
who still do next tells
I hit em on the bleep,
C
send em where you eat
They kill you while you sleep
A million dollar loan
couldn't get you on your feet
Em
Capisce?
Don't let this rappin' shit fool you
You come up out your face
then it has to get crucial
C
Get under my skin
I'll crumble your chin
Then you gettin' boxed out
like you under the rim
Em
Again I've been what you
never was with the pen
Got your baby mother yellin' why
you fuckin' with him?
C
Stackin' up heavy, box it again
I had a man already I'm just rubbin' it in
Em
This is the part where
it get a little tricky
This is a full contact sport
ladies and gentlemen
C
You gotta be prepared to die for this
Em
If you believe in it, you dig me
It all boils down to winners or losers
What side are you on?
C
The Hustler
Yo, J .R., what's up with you?
Em
I'm back, but for the contract
I used to grind crack
We'll wind back, you can see
C
I ball like contacts
I'm strapped and I'm
always ready for combat
If it's beef I get the heat
and clap at your LeBron hat
Em
Cock the nine back and tackle
you like the linebacker
And crack you over your head
with a bottle of cognac
C
Your broke ass go half on the dime sack
I smoke so much you can smell my
breath and catch contact
Em
Every time I rhyme raps,
rappers get petrified
Cause they bugs,
and I'm a thug that spit insecticides
C
I specialize in getting guap,
my pockets extra wide
And I push a lot of weight,
but I don't ever exercise
Em
My pockets fat,
but they ain't on a diet though
The crack gang dying,
but the fiends still buy it though
C
Whatever man, I'm the weatherman
I supply the snow, I get a lot of dough
Em
C
And I'm a pimp, nigga hide your hoe
You
Rewind Back
Cassidy, J.R. Writer
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