Y'all Don't Wanna Fuck

Y'all Don't Wanna Fuck easy guitar chords by Styles P

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  • Verse 1
    My 
    style's 
    louder 

    than 
    a stereo 

    Bowler 
    than 
    a snake 

    When 
    I kill 
    these fuckin' 
    rappers, 

    they show 
    off 
    at the burials 

    don't mean 
    to worry 
    'all 

    But 
    I want 
    y 'all gone 

    And 
    this 

    M16 
    is 
    the only 
    way 
    to heavy 
    'all 

    Here's 
    my last 
    proposition 

    I'm 
    treatin' 
    rap 
    like 
    crack 

    If 
    don't sell 
    the most, 

    I gotta 
    kill 
    the 

    competition 

    Don't 
    take 
    it personally 

    Gotta 
    go 
    to jail, 
    and if 
    I come 
    back 

    You don't 
    have 
    my cash, 

    then 
    I'm perfuming 

    Got 
    a business 
    gun, 
    with industry 
    bullets 

    When 
    it hits 
    you, motherfucker, 

    guaranteed 
    it 
    be jerkin' 

    Things 
    are so 
    my contact'll 
    break 
    up your 
    man I'm 
    a gentleman, 

    my contract's 
    a shake 
    of a 
    hand 

    I make 
    it hard 
    so 
    only 

    God 
    can wake 
    up your 
    man 

    Cause 
    I do 
    things 
    the 

    Don 
    way 

    It's 

    Panera 
    with the 

    Ghost, 
    a good 
    fella 
    like 
    fuckin' 

    Jim 

    Conway 

    Leave 
    no 
    evidence, 
    fuck 
    dead man 

    When 
    can leave 
    off the 

    scene with 
    dead 
    presidents 

    This 
    is 
    for 
    the hood 
    and 
    niggas 
    that 
    swag 

    If 
    you bout 
    to die, 

    are you throwin' 
    trap? 

    Blocka, 
    blocka, 
    blocka, 

    blocka, 
    blocka, blocka 

    Forget 
    sad 
    sniggas 
    that 

    been flowin' 
    the wild 

    Blocka, 
    blocka, 
    block
    a, 
    blocka, 

    Hey yo, 
    let's do 
    it for 
    the hood 

    Where 
    there's 
    a lot 
    of homicides 
    at 

    Where 
    killers 
    ride 
    at 
    and 

    OG's 
    reside 
    at 

    It's 
    runnin' 
    slow 

    Hold up, 
    and son, 
    I see 
    it every 
    day 

    Fuck 
    that, 

    we'll find 
    another 
    way 
    to play 

    So don't 
    mistake 
    me for 
    no rap 
    artist 

    Listen, 
    old 
    dude 
    is from 
    the old 
    school 

    He 
    abide 
    by 
    the old 
    rules 

    and I 
    will protuse 

    It's 
    38 
    longs, 
    the crime 
    rate 
    will inflate 

    and 
    the murder 
    rate 
    is strong 

    How 
    could 
    we get 
    along, 

    and you 
    doing 
    this underhanded 
    faggot 
    shit 

    You faggot 
    bitch, 

    we gotta 
    get 
    you gone 

    William 

    Dance 
    songs, 
    all disloyal 
    guys 

    Should 
    be shot 
    in they 
    back 

    once and 
    left 
    paralyzed 

    You 
    gon' 
    change 
    me how, 

    what 
    you thought 
    would happen 

    When 
    they chained 
    me and 

    framed 
    the staffs 

    You asked 
    and 
    I heard 
    about 
    it, all 
    it 
    can be 
    is 

    -O 
    -S 
    -T 

    Motherfucker, 

    you keep 
    thinking 
    when 
    I float 
    hard 

    It's 
    a rap, 
    when 
    your ass 
    get 
    beat with 
    a crowbar, 

    it's 
    a rap 
    for 
    real 

    We 
    straight 
    thug 
    it, 
    read 
    my 
    poems, 

    you'll see 
    more 
    chapters 
    than 

    L. 

    Ron 

    Hubbard 

    We 
    done 
    dealt 
    more drugs 
    than 

    Genevieve's, 
    made 
    dope 
    fiends 
    out 

    of school 
    principals 
    and 
    deans 

    Now 
    they all 
    fucked 
    up, 
    career 
    finished, 

    got 
    they ass 
    gnawing 
    in 
    front of 
    the methadone 
    clinics 

    We 
    fucked 
    it all 
    day, 
    but it ain't 
    the 

    Henny 
    in 
    me, it's 
    that real 
    deal 

    shit 
    with a splash 
    of tranny 
    in 
    me 

    All 
    I need 
    is 
    a hammer 

    And 
    a clip 
    load, 

    I'll storm 
    through 
    whatever 

    Steak, 
    burro, 
    zip 
    code, 
    it's 
    the 

    .O 
    .P. 

    Mashin' 
    through 
    your ghetto, 

    rippin' 
    heavy 
    metal 

    We rough 
    ridin' 

    Who's 

    Pinero? 

    Listen 
    up 

    'all 
    better respect 

    the criminalization 
    of these 

    .G.'s 

    Whisper 
    at 
    me, nigga 

    Don't ever 
    try 
    to fuck 
    with 

    .O .P. 
    and 

    Styles 

    Plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka, 

    plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka 

    This 
    is for 
    the hood 
    and 

    the niggas 
    that 
    swab 

    Plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka 

    If 
    you bout 
    to die, 

    I'll 
    be blowin' 
    trap 

    Plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka, 

    plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka 

    For 
    these 
    ass 
    niggas 
    that 

    was blowin' 
    the 
    whap 

    Plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka, 

    plucka, 
    plucka, 
    plucka 

    Weak 
    a beef, 
    don't give 
    a fuck 

    Cause 
    if 
    you kill 
    me, 

    I got 
    niggas 
    that'll 
    benefit, 
    son 

    It's 
    the world's 
    most 
    gutterous 

    Veneer 
    or the 
    ghost, 

    they thought 
    of me 
    when they 
    invented 
    the 
    gun 

    To 
    tell 
    the truth, 
    prefer 
    the knife 

    Cause 
    a physical 
    nigga, 
    I go 
    in your 
    chest 

    I'll 
    show 
    you how 
    the murder 

    right 
    is deep 

    I'ma 
    kill 
    your momma, 

    and I 
    don't care 
    if I 
    die 

    Cause 
    all 
    I mean 
    is that 
    I'm going 

    to join 
    my little 
    brother 
    dawg 

    I had 
    a hard 
    life, 

    and I'm 
    in love 
    with the 
    pain 

    Thuggin' 
    the 
    game with 

    hella 
    winning 
    hard 
    wife 

    Back 
    to 
    the gym, 
    the way 
    I squeeze 
    off, 

    freeze 
    off 

    Leave 
    a hole 
    in your 
    stomach, 

    take a 
    nigga knees 
    off 

    Face 
    gets 
    splattered 
    around, 

    too many 
    cops 
    with a 

    Glock 

    Fuck 
    it dawg, 

    then 
    I'm batting 
    you down 

    Don't 
    you ask 
    me what's 

    happening 
    now 

    This 
    ain't 

    -Gun, 
    niggas 
    see 

    -Gun, 
    I'm clappin' 
    you 
    clowns 

    What? 

    You 
    don't 
    wanna 
    touch 
    this 

    It's 

    Panera 
    the 

    Ghost, 
    good 
    fella 
    like 
    fuckin' 

    Jim 

    Conway 

    You don't 
    wanna 
    touch 
    this 

    It's 

    Lil' 

    Fizzy 
    with 
    that 

    Brazil 
    shit 
    an
    d a splash 
    of 

    Trini 
    in 
    me 

    You 
    don't 
    wanna 
    touch 
    this 

    Bill 
    38 
    long, 
    the crime 
    rate 
    will inflate 

    and 
    the murder 
    rate 
    is strong 

    You 
    don't 
    wanna 
    touch 
    this 

    I'ma 
    keep it 
    real, 

    I'ma 
    keep 
    it real 

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