Tonart: D# minor
Intro 1
Am
Bb
Verse 1
flip keys and shit
Remember the 80's when
niggas was acting crazy
The mean streets raised me,
I used to live dangerously
Amiss, crack selling armed
and dangerous felons
Plus, murderers, drug spot burglars
A
Am
Niggas do ing anything
to acquire that paper
Live the life of crime but got
saved by the rhyme
Peace to all my niggas,
F
Bb
Am
doing time on top of time
Plus the ones gunned
down in their prime
I made it this far because
of divine design
Diamond flooded chains,
the sun still out shine
I get you drunk off my drink like
that champagne wine
As long as there's breath left,
I'll father the fatherless
If shit was real
Brooklyn,
I'd snatch that chain off your chest
Don't fess,
we know why you rock that vest
Hard on records, but really pussy, check it
C
Am
I do this for me
And not the paper
Strictly
A hundred percent
Cause ain't no beans comin' in
between me and my dreams
See what I mean?
Bb
Black, I guess the paper
Am
It started way before super rhymes
Peace to mom dukes for
enduring hard times
God, bless all the victims
of my past life crimes
I do this for the ghetto youth,
living like good times
Flippin' rhymes,
save me from the obvious traps
In 97 studio, hustlers push crack
On wax and breakin' backs,
but fakin' jacks
If it wasn't for contracts,
C
they wouldn't bust caps
Am
So, destroy your people
and collect huge stacks
Fat acts and flattenin' plaques,
come bring it back
Rewind it, that old gangster bullshit
Got the youth runnin' round,
criminal -minded
Not a player, hater,
just don't chase the paper
Got a little deal,
so some heads caught the vapors
So stupid motherfuckers,
throw your guns in the air
To all my niggas who ain't make
C
Bb
it past their 19th year
Am
I do it for me, and not the paper
Strictly, a hundred percent
A
Cause ain't no beans comin' in
Am
between me and my dreams
Am
Sinister plots, every week who got shot
Spots like the
Enterprise kept the neighborhood hot
Niggas buggin' out,
A
Am
so some receive toe tags
Restin' up north with flags
or sportin' shit bags
When I think back, it's so sad
All the niggas I had,
who'd ever figure that it'd get so bad
So I retreat with a pen and a pad
Hide your chain when
you're ridin' the train
C
Bb
Am
Fuck writin' rhymes about
automatic weapons
I'd rather steer the youth
in the right direction
Drop a bomb, destroy the 10 % section
Little girls already sexin'
Hard rock shorties is flexin'
But I stick to my lessons, no stress
Bb
Cause if shit was real,
Am
Brooklyn would snatch that
chain off your chest
Don't fess,
we know why you rock that vest
Hard on records, but really pussy, check it
C
Am
I do this for me, and not the paper
Strictly, a hundred percent
Know what I'm sayin'?
Cause ain't no beans comin' in
A
Am
between me and my dreams
C
She would not be in black,
Am
Bb
Am
I guess the paper
Am
You
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TunerE A D G B E
Akkorde & SongtexteAm Bb A F C
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