Potholderz accords par
Mf Doom
Mf Doom

N/A1 vues
Tonalité : D minor
Intro 1
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Verse 1
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I strive to be humble,
lest I stumble,
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never sold a jumbo,
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or cop chicken wings
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with mumbo sauce,
Tyson is a foul holocaust,
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Hitler gash your whole head up with poultry, I'm fed up
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Ig nore Cordon Bleu, stand up,
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get up, lunch for your knife
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Don't forget your pot holders
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Hot shit, what? These old things?
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About to throw them away
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With the gold rings
that make them don't fit like OJ
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Usually I take them off with oil
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or ole MC's
as crabs in a barrel past the old bay
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Hot as hell and it's a cold day in it
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Working on a way that we
can roll away tinnit
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Some say the price of holding heat
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is often too high
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You either be in a coffin
or you be the new guy
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The one that's too fly to eat chupai
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Never too busy when
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it comes down to you and I
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A lot of niggas wish to die
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They need to hold their horses,
it's bigger fish to fry
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You're on the list, if not,
pick a number spot
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Ten and a half
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Timbs is made to kick your bumper climb
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I coulda had a V8, F -150 quad cab,
but I'll be straight
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Money comes and goes
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like that two -bit
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Hustle that night to try to rush me
Dwight passed the dutchie
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So I could calm down
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so they don't get it twisted
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Take it from the fireside
and won't get enlisted
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Got it, what happened? Oh, it's not lit
These metal fingers be holdin' hot shit
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When I was four, I penned
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God was born in New York
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Back in 77, still got Nan in the crescent
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The effervescence of God's
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presence is thick
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Un like vapor, esterol, extra roll,
word to the baker
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Peace to the hard -workin'
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gingerbread makers
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Looked up and down, said,
hmm, too much make -up
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Poor music tastes ten years from
being grown -up
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Rappers don't blow up, heads do
Aw, shit
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My name is Dwight Spitz,
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I'm a sonic addict
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I used to think it was
merely a nagging habit
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Born under a bad sign
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I'm serious about this curse of mine
I strive to flip it in the fine wine
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Barely born a virgin is
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what the stars said
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Black, not white, red all over,
though, like Elmo
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28 years have passed,
I feel I'm peaking
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I make music every weekend
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It's a chore, a fact of life
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A labor of love, I get mad love
but I detest the labor
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And it's wages, you know death
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I'm serving life from this gift of God
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Don't forget your potholders,
my niggas
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F
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Mojito
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Mojito
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Mojito
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Background music playing.
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A
short time later.

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AccordeurE A D G B E
AccordsBbm B Dbaug F