Tonalité : E major•
Verse 1
Em
Eh yo, god bless the dead,
E
ya know?
Em
And all my cats I know with the football
jerseys on: dont have no regrets
Fm
Hold them numbers
E
Big up to the feds who tried to
Em
catch me in 88, nigga
E
Ha!
Verse 2
Em
E
Funk Flav, Mr. Mack
Verse 3
E
Eh yo, I cant face going to jail
Cuz my life is bullshit, man,
nigga fuck paying bail
Shit is on the third rail
Em
E
On my tail is the feds, baby,
Frank? for club med
Niggaz wanna kill me, god
Em
Scared I might wrap these niggaz
Entrap these niggaz
E
If the feds wasnt watching I
would clap these niggaz
I mean put a bullet through the fuckin
back of these niggaz
Phone ringing off the hook,
Fm
probably tapped my niggaz
E
See the headlines now: "Mack
found in 5 rivers"
FDR, thinkin was it better
when I didnt buy the car
Didnt cop the bar,
Fm
didnt buy my girl mother a new jaguar
E
Shit, my moms got the Continental
Em
R with the backseat bar
E
Talkin about "my sons a star"
Little do she know I'm Caesar
and world?
Fm
E
Crack is dead, I'm sellin X instead
Bitches in my bed will fill
your ass with lead
Keep givin me head 'til the tip turns red
Verse 4
Sit back and watch me butter this bread
E
Em
E
On the run
Best three words to describe my life,
make the game my wife
On the run
Hustler, born and raised,
in the streets where I spent my days
Verse 5
E
I told my main chick, pack your bags,
She ain't listen
Chrome started whistling
and turned her Christian
Em
E
Blew up the whole house
using nitro- glycerin
Em
E
But the Expedition in the
garage was missing
Moved the nannies and
the kids to a new position
Em
Intuition gave me suspicion
E
Shit is murder,
do I kill myself and fuck them niggaz' satisfaction
Or demand action,
pull out toast and start blasting
Young niggaz asking,
Fm
E
wise cats only give a fraction
Streets is the young man's attraction
Fm
I dug myself into a hole
Em
E
Into a world thats cold
Em
Pimps, players, bitches, ballers, hustlers,
Fm
E
drugs, guns and thugs
Million dollar homes,
like Capone's, persian rugs
Gentlemen with fake hugs, turn to slugs
I'm a made man, paid man,
show no love
Clock's ticking, plot thicken,
probably written in a book somewhere
My fuckin life ain't fair
See either way,
i'ma make it off this earth without a trace
So if I ever see the judge,
Interlude 1
i'ma spit in the bitch face
Fm
E
Fm
E
Verse 6
Em
Eh yo, faggots
E
Nah i'm sayin, all you sweet cats,
nahmean?
Fm
E
Real gentleman dont need it
Verse 7
E
Its strictly drive- thru window meals
Enemies lurking every crack and crevice,
Em
E
eating rocks for bre
Outro 1
Fm
E
Em
E
Em
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AccordeurE A D G B E
AccordsEm E Fm
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