The Bomb Combo chords by People Under The Stairs

SimplifiedEm · D · F#m · G · Bb …

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Intro 1
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I dream about walking into

Verse 1
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a warehouse with vinyl in massive amounts that hasn't been touched.
Em 
Jazz, rock, funk and such to come
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through in a clutch like a musical crutch
Em 
to give my life some light on
nights when my girl fights.
Things that come and go,
my records are original.
Soundtrack from way back
reminded me to stay back.
The 92 hip hop,
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the needle in a haystack.
Em 
The break beats on wax
that kept me in an interested
D 
state to learn facts.
Jump out and dig plates,
Em 
fill in my crates,
appreciate originals who made it.
D 
Things moving cycles
F#m 
and hip -hop is slated for
Em 
a disco demise
Synthetic kicks and snares
G 
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and keyboards ruling the
charts around the rise
Em 
Open your eyes,
my people lose your history
Ten years digging
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and half the shit's still a mystery
Em 
So play out on my played out record,
I'm on my way out
You couldn't understand
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Em 
what it's like for the payout
Picking up the pieces of a musical puzzle
G 
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One record at a time,
Em 
reconstruct, write a rhyme
Spend all my living time
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trying to follow the line
Em 
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From Southbox ones and twos
to drum machines
Em 
that do the same damn thing
I'm a hip -hop bean
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and I don't take it for granted
Em 
It's not used to change
even though it's been handed down
So dig the sound,
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people under the stairs
F#m 
are musically profound
Em 
It's not used to change
even if it's handed down
G 
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People under the stairs
F#m 
will stay musically profound
Em 
Bb 
In every section,
Em 
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F#m 
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tag team connec
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Em 
tion,
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F#m 
Em 
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the ball, the ball comes
F#m 
Em 
Now every hi  -hat kick snared,
it snatched off wax
Blowin' chumps off like dust,
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trust that, we'll bust back
Strap with an extra stylus,
doubles up, my favorite jam
D 
Keep the compact disc on the dash
Em 
and watch us masters break down
And everything's on the one,
you tellin' me no samplin',
D 
Em 
I'm tellin' you it's no fun
Fake bitch, take this colored keyboard,
shove it where you know where to hurt
D 
And y 'all ain't makin' no beats,
Em 
so why these record spots
burnt?
Collect celebrity cards
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and leave the vinyl for the people doin' it,
stayin' in charge
Em 
I talk to my records,
I don't loop em' then abuse em'
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They get a comfortable environment,
I'm outlinin' it
Em 
Funky break,
psychedelic jazz and more
G 
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What's this, some hip -hop?
Ayo, show us the whole flow
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It's me, your death scope,
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I broke like Gamblin' Huck
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Keep the bass lines meaty,
drumline rolls tough
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With the...
We produce like old farmers
in the field naturally
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Without some punk askin' me
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Where's the cowbell, triangle,
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and all the fake scratchin'
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If it wasn't on the store,
F#m 
so where we livin' at, we rid   of it
Em 
Keep it down,
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loaded sounds in that disc drive
Em 
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Before I call the funk mob
and get the Dorman 45s
Em 
Harder than your high producer remix,
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and they won
Em 
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I ain't feelin' none of these
sissy beatmakers on the run
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I'm bout to pack my record bags
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and take the show on the road
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Continue to  build rhythms,
keep the status a code
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Hardcore, no joke,
backspinnin' and winnin'
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Truncatin' that weak shit,
you ain't makin' shit, don't speak shit
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F#m 
Yeah
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In every section tag team con
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nec   tion
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I'll see you next