Tonart: C major
Verse 1
C
I love the gang, I love the hustle,
man
F
Yesterday I said, fuck rap,
In the studio with coffee cups
and my rapper friends
Two -steppin' in my lil' shoes,
this a rapper dance
F
Up this fat bitch to kick back
C
and send yo' ass to France
I'm finna roll up, I would,
F
C
who wanna match the dad?
I ain't even gettin' dressed this week,
it's been a rack on pants
Can't touch so many fuckin' grounds,
I need to wash my hands
Paranoid and I don't trust nobody,
be the pop, my mans
Em
The opps runnin' with the faster legs
C
Told the bitch come over,
now she sleepin' in the master bed
Now she leanin' over,
eatin' dick,
givin' master hand
Fuck a handout, just ask around,
F
C
I'm the last to bend
F
I been plottin' on the lick,
F
I'll rob you out your shit
C
and do the laughin' dance
F
Bro, I'll stab you in your shit,
You can't do the shit I do,
you wouldn't last a chance
Soul coke on these streets,
C
As long as niggas is feelin' it,
a nigga like me
Could hustle, hustle, hustle,
hustle, hustlin'
Anything these niggas buyin',
I'ma sell it to em'
Nigga call me askin' bout some drink,
I sold him metal fluid
F
Remember I was pullin' scales
C
and talkin' hella fluent
I can show you how to jigger, n***a,
but that ain't included
Put up that lil' ass gun for a Bitch
Em
C
Put up that lil' ass gun for
I'll take your room
And send a bitch to take you out your shit
and she ain't no booster
F
I had to meet up with the plug,
So I ain't finna throw
C
if you ain't gon' move it
That's like throwin' you the strap
F
C
and you ain't gon' shoot it
You ain't got no purpose
C
if you broke and useless
I ain't wanna kill the n***a,
but he made me do it
You the one I picked that gun up,
they ain't make you shoot it
Finna take a trip to Hollywood,
I'm bout to make a movie
Fuckin' on that lil' black bitch,
F
C
that's some roasted doonies
Wallace, it's a jib,
F
C
me and Sleek, we was both in juvie
F
You can't run off with a bag,
C
you must think I'm foolish
Shot the nigga in his head,
he need a brain removal
I ain't have no food,
F
C
50 cents is what I pay for noodles
F
She like kids on her face,
C
callin' toast a shooter
Got no cheese, but you killin',
you a broken shooter
F
I'ma step on my haters with a slow
C
F
C
maneuver
F
C
F
C
F
C
F
C
F
Em
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