Tonalité : E minor•
Verse 1
Em
RZA came and got me,
this what I came to do, come on
Ring the bell so it's time to eat
Am
Em
Brick Dog stash weed inta AMI- seats
Bomb inside the palm
Doc rock a wifebeater with me beatin'
my wife ass ironed on
The front my pump built
like the Klumps
To carry it I take the spare out the trunk
I stay hungry, I ain't worked for days
C
F
Em
That's why you see the pump
when the curtains raise
F
Em
Blast! Don't panic
Do I gotta explain how I tame and lock the
rapgame single- handed?
F
Em
Hell nah! I won't tell you son
F
Em
If I find a wack idea I sell you one
Doc and Hot Nick, Inspectah
My lecture's like Hannibal
Am
Lector's
Em
Where's the ketchup?
F
Em
Don't speak on it, shut ya trap
F
Em
I see ya whole crew yellow
like mustardpacks
F
Em
Ah woo, Doc in my own zone
You say you got the rapgames sewn,
but it's sewn wrong
C
I ride through ya hood in
Em
a Mr. Softee truck
Then pull a mac out a box of snow cones
Yeah, ya little fucks
Verse 2
Gimme ya fucking money!
Em
F
Em
Uh uh,
check it
F
Em
I'm hotter than a hundred
degrees with my coat on
Playing with a dynamite stick,
where did I go wrong?
F
Em
Somebody pull the fire
along when Jonny stomp
C
Em
If ya lukewarm leavin ya clothes
and boots torn
Pro's and con's,
megabomb's and so- on's
By arid actions try
MC's to get their roll on
First issue got issues
F
What is hip- hop to Hot Nickles?
C
Em
It's like Funk Doc to snot tissues, word
Look at my hand and get the third
Finger out ya earhole like: Fuck
what you hear
Now that's what I call hardcore,
let's act fool
F
C
Em
Mr. Fix- It like Handyman I pack tool
I been shitty, I'm from the bowels
of the city (New York)
And just because my outfit match
don't make me pretty
Baggy dungarees,
dick need room to breathe
In a room full of crackers I
might cut the cheese
Ain't no rules to the game,
if it is we ain't playin'
In your business like EPMD, "So
What Cha Sayin'"
You co- signin that bullshit
yo man tryin'
Chaka chaka cha- ta tatat!
F
C
Slugs
Em
flyin
Verse 3
C
Em
Check, the code echos from magazines
to the big screen
Fo' wheel machines like ya wits scream
Kids fiend from the urban to sub- urban
C
Roll upon me thirstin' like: Hey,
Em
hey, Mister Dream- Merchant
F
Em
C
Em
We roll longer than dice in a cas ino
Cee- lo in the 4, 5 or 6 with double 0
Behind the tinted windows I lay low
On some hydro tryin'
to slide from the 5- 0
But now I get wild similar to Ol' Dirty
A third time felon just hit with over 30
No worries, style have em so thirsty
First degree heats are quittin' on me, cold turkey,
no mercy
I bring the pain of a hundred migraines
But a thousand shoutin' my
name that's why I came
But first bring the cashburst, then
the outburst
My surround sound pound
ya ear like Jevon Kearse
I flex muscle outside I find
a next hustle
Trouble with ya here
and face the TEC- muscle
Even the best buckle win
I take it to the extreme
It gets ugly,
but it's what a nigga do to get cream
Outro 1
This life
Em
F
C
Em
F
C
Em
C
F
Em
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