Key: E minor•
Verse 1
Are you not entertained?
G#
C#m
Is this not why you are here?
Let's go get him again.
my nigga.
Brooklyn stand up
B
Em
Am
Never been a nigga
this good for this long
This hood or this pop,
this hot or this strong
With so many different flows,
this one's for this song
The next one I switch up,
this one will get bit up
Em
Am
These fucks too lazy to make up shit
They crazy,
they don't paint pictures,
they just traits me
They hostile from the try
to reverse the outcome
I'm a writer for myself and others
I say a big verse,
I'm big enough to do it
I'm that barrel,
bring them out
It's hard to yell when the
barrel's in your mouth
I'm in new sneakers,
dual seaters, few divas
What more can I tell you,
W -I -L -L -I -E,
New York's ambassador
back to finish my business up
Am
Em
Am
What more can I do?
Em
Am
I gave this all to you
Em
Am
Em
Am
I know this much is true,
Em
Am
Em
true
Am
You already know what I'm about
Flyin' birds down south,
moving wet off the step
Purple rain and the drought
Stuckin' on hose, brushing off my shirt
But ain't nothin' on my clothes,
at my chain
My name Young H .O., pitch to Ye faithful
Even if they patrol, I make payroll
Benz paid for, friends they roll
Private jets down to Turks and Caicos
Am
C
Head to toes to the day I rest
I'm 30 plus
Give me a crisp pair of jeans,
nigga, button up
Escorts on my feet,
make my sightings complete
What more can I say?
Ha ha ha ha!
Woo!
What more can I say to you?
Now you know your ass is willy
when they got you in the mag
For like half a billy,
and your ass ain't lily
White, that mean that shit
you write must be illy
Em
Am
Either that or your flow is silly, it's both
I don't mean to boast,
but damn if I don't brag
Some crackers gon' act
like I ain't on they ass
I'm Arthur Stewart,
that's far from Jewish
just had the balls to do it
C
Em
in fact I'm just previewing it
This ain't the show, I'm just EQing it
Am
C
One two and I won't stop abusing it
Em
Am
The groupie girl stop false accusing it
Back to the music,
the Maybach roof is translucent
Niggas got a problem, Houston?
What up B, they can't shut up me
what these streets did to me
let these clowns nitpick at me
Paint me like a picanie
I would literally kiss T .T. in the forehead
Tell her please forgive me,
then squeeze into your forehead
Em
Am
I'm not the one to score points off
In fact, I got a joint to knock
your points off
Young, over the guard, nigga, blasphemy
I'm at the Trump International, ask for me
I ain't never scared, I'm everywhere,
you ain't never there
Pound for pound,
Am
C
I'm the best to ever come around here
Am
C
The soul of a hustle, I really ran the street
that marketing plan was me
And no, I ain't get shot up
a whole bunch of times
Or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
And I ain't animated like,
say, a Busta Rhymes
when you bust down my lines
Add that to the fact
I went plat a bunch of times,
times that by my influence on pop culture
I supposed to be number one
on everybody's list
We'll see what happens
when I no longer exist
Em
Am
Fuck this, man
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TunerE A D G B E
ChordsG#m G# C#m F#m B...
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