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