Tom: F minor
Intro 1
Gdim
Gb
Abm
Ebm
Bb
Ebm
Bb
Ebm
Verse 1
Ebm
Now excuse me mister,
but I don't mean to diss ya
I was raised off soul food, washin' dishes
B
Take a picture of this lunatic with a side
Ebm
B
I pray to God that you know
who you're dealing with
Ebm
Make out of town, niggas,
get back out of town, nigga
My four pound,
I make the sickest sound, nigga
Ooh, yeah, watch how I do now
I'ma show you how a south nigga's
I'm beatin' hard as a drum, man
I'm kinda like a gas station,
full of this octane
I'm in the kitchen like a chef,
B
Ebm
but the chef ain't in me
Abm
I got so many combustibles, smoke please
Ebm
Up in the chimney, y 'all'll hear me
These niggas think I'm
beefin' for nothin'
Like I'm the French Prince of Bel -Air,
beggin' for somethin'
B
You better tell him who the fucks I is
and who I be
My heart is dedicated to Ray J,
cause I'm a G man
Ebm
They like black, pretty black,
Ebm
B
No promotion, had to mixtape,
the streets knew it
Ebm
Bbm
Ebm
You was in line, had a chance,
but you blew it
You got hit with a pack and you blew it
Same nigga got hit with a Mac
and bled fluid
I'm livin' proof of what a hustler is, man
tryna keep up with the beamer
Blowin' good perc,
gettin' head from a diva
Ebm
Southside, dirty lil' ass, she bastard
Tryna figure out how to get cash faster
askin' me for work
Time he came home, Dami got jerked
Ebm
Head still locked up, illy still locked up
Niggas want black dead,
I never keep the glock tucked
B
Ebm
So I plug with the regime,
B
Ebm
that's more money, more guns
B
You think I'ma spray things?
Ebm
You know black don't spray things
My 4 pound n***a don't
come back around n***a
skip back out of town n***a
Ebm
B
My 4 pound n***a don't come
back around n***a
Ebm
Make out of town n***a,
skip back out of town n***a
My 4 pound n***a
don't come back around n***a
skip back out of town n***a
My 4 pound n***a
Ebm
don't come back around n***a
Don't come back around n***a
B
Don't come back around n***a
Don't come back around, n***a
Ebm
Don't come back around,
n***a
The mafia's off,
spring cokin' like Dream
The cartel, all hail, y 'all ain't like me
B
Eighteen wheelers, eighteen trucks
Got them all over the states,
yeah, makin' them bucks
Ebm
Tell the coach, keep they guard up,
know when we shoot things
M24, Swiss, easy to say things
hit you at eighteen
Boys, don't play, dawg,
if you gon' owe me
Ebm
And if we don't reach ya,
then it's your family
So just don't blame me, go on and pay me
B
I stay with the dirty, hairy tipsy
Everybody told you he like John Gotti
Ebm
Loose with the 12 shotty
In the drop overseas, fuck doing time
Laid back, smoking tons of that grapevine
It's the regime, you already know
Money over bitches and
that's how it
Hustle and fresh,
my team's the best
And money's how I organize it
We want it all, nothing less
B
So put the chemists on it
Have it stretched and hit the complex,
I'm duckin' walruses
Ebm
Hop in the cab and takin'
pictures of the Transformer
They wanna transport
him back to the precinct
They say that I'm a transporter,
send him to Sing Sing
B
Uh, him and his whole team,
Rico Law, they guilty
Give him a hundred years
Ebm
on that Frode and Gookie boats
Jets, trains, and automobiles
He's probably in another country,
Amsterdam and the Pills
B
Lunch pailin' on Grand Hills
Look at those wheels,
all the kids yell bingo
Ebm
A hot nigga with his neck on chill
I'm at the baseball field
We're like familiar and
they watch me steal
B
It's the mob, get a new job
Tell my kids get in the coupe
cause they know I got
Ebm
B
Ebm
the juice
B
Ebm
You
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