Tonart: E minor
Verse 1
Em
G
Am
Em
To everyone
who
bit the template and ran with it,
G
Am
Homie, I see you,
Nothin' can escape my view,
Em
To all the off -beat rappers,
G
A
Learn your lyrics,
Or you bust your lyrics,
Am
Em
Especially to niggas in front,
Am
With that pre -arranged,
Rehearsed verse,
This goes,
G
To fake niggas with corny shows,
Just to watch you frontin' posts,
Em
To all these wannabe night bitches,
Am
All I wanted was five,
Em
For this weed I twisted,
G
To the cats thinkin' they touchin'
me?
That's absurd.
Em
Cali, perhaps you've heard.
G
To the so -called purists, this here
is about
Am
Bob's spirit, and anyone can
Em
feel it when they hear it.
fuckin' heard.
Am
Fuck you, your review, and your
A
D
Am
SAT birth.
A
D
Am
A
Em
Do these old new -booty rappers
G
screamin' back in the day?
Am
You think old school is special
ed and
Big
Daddy came?
Em
G
Do these video hoes swearin' that you models,
for cash and gettin' fucked
Em
with champagne bottles
to the white boy rappers,
G
Am
keep it true, I ain't for got
it was a time when yo'
ass would get mocked
Em
G
grease cats claimin' freestyle king,
write a song
Am
I ain't tryin' to hear you rhyme about
Em
the crowd all night long
to the wannabe thug,
D
you thinkin' cornrows and taxes
Am
but it's finna keep me from breakin'
Em
my foot off in yo' ass
to these record execs hidin'
Am
watch your back, snakes trap you,
G
see, pangas gone and yes men,
D
Am
screamin' about the guest list
Em
guess what, you can get this dick
to these revolutionaries who
D
ain't read or trained today
A
Evict the blocks and insects,
D
Am
A
D
we gon' keep you out of harm's way
Am
A
Em
To these cowards posin' with guns,
G
thinkin' that's gon' stop me?
Am
Your soul is now my property,
you shoulda shot me
Em
Welcome to these half -naked hookers,
Am
Put some clothes on,
then we won't have nothin' to stare at
Dm
To these rappin' ass show promoters,
please don't flow
Just introduce me, and collect my dough
Till these old internet busters
come up and speak
In fact, don't come up and speak,
you might get your ass beat
To the hype man,
you don't know his rappers rhyme
God, I'm running out of breath,
they're leaving blank spots half the time
To these cats with these heavy chains,
have you a tool?
I went to college,
I'm trying to pay for graduate school
To these players, these whole payers
You ain't no pimp, you a trick,
we make them pay for the dick
And to these hoes thinking they
finna get some of my bread
I made this money, you didn't, right
Am
A
D
Am
Ted?
A
D
Am
A
Em
G
Am
To these quote -unquote underground cats, guess what,
Em
you went commercial as soon as you sold your first rap
To the station claiming they were hip -hop lives,
A
Am
Em
hip -hop lives in the streets, you eat a dick
G
To the cat in the crowd who wanna wear a frown,
Am
why don't you go home or something, you're a fucking clown
Em
G
To these pocket mutators, I hate to be a hater,
Am
but he was one of the greatest, and you can never duplicate him
Em
G
To the deadbeat daddies, you not a man,
A
Am
Em
how you gon' have your kids running round without a dad
A
To the baby mamas trying to find a man,
Am
Em
find yourself, you got repressing matters at hand
To anyone who's got a
G
problem with what I say
Tajay, it's an orc drama
Em
That's swaying through these
jaded folks
D
Screaming fuck hip -hop,
fuck you motherfucker
I love hip -hop
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TunerE A D G B E
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