Tonart: F minor•
Intro 1
Fm
F
Fm
Eb
Db
Fm
F
Fm
Bbm
Fm
F
And we still bangin' on the mother
Verse 1
Fm
fuckin' streets
F
Fm
of the Southern Cal ifas
Db
F
Fm
Bbm
Ab
F
Db
F
Bbm
Fm
to my motherfuckin' gangstas,
where you at?
F
Fm
Db
Rollin' around in a Cadillac,
all black strap
Fm
F
Fm
Yeah, I'm talkin' to my Gs,
Bbm
not no motherfuckin' pretty
Fm
F
Worldwide, we beatin', makes me jeez
Fm
We done bought those other
Fm
F
All you motherfuckin' haters R .I .P
Bbm
Ab
H's up in the sky, it's all I see
F
Mr. Criminal gives a fuck
F
Fm
Haters come and go, but fuck it,
Db
charge it to the gang
Fm
F
I make your money different ways,
you do the same
Bbm
Right before you crash,
Ab
you better stay up out my lane
Fm
F
When they hear my flow,
they say I'm dope like cocaine
Fm
Blow your fuckin' head off
Db
with a gaze like Cobain
Fm
F
I hear these fools
Fm
dissin' with no names
Bbm
Eb
But nobody listens, their flows lame
F
Fm
Ain't nobody listen to that
wack -ass shit,
F
Db
these motherfuckers be droppin'
Bbm
I mean these motherfuckers be floppin'
Ab
Fm
F
Ha ha ha, yeah
If it ain't HPG,
Db
F
it ain't me Mr. Criminal
Bbm
Goddang, some of these punks true
Ab
Fm
F
Fuck the British B -b -b -b -buck,
Fm
that's the sound from the Glock
F
Db
Holla, point, tiff, make it loud,
that's hard stock
Fm
F
Mr. Criminal,
Fm
what you hearin' on your block?
Bbm
Cm
Billboards every year, here at Nonstop
Fm
F
Fm
High power motherfuckin' kingpins
F
Fm
Db
See your ship slowly fuckin' sinkin'
Fm
F
All my moves hatin', steady peepin'
Fm
Bbm
Catch you creepin', bitches,
you sweet deepin'
Ab
Fm
F
Up high by a smock lock,
Fm
make your fuckin' heart stop
Db
Fuck all you lies, bust no one in shots
F
We the riders that you envy and follow
Bbm
Tryn a call my phone,
Ab
askin' me for a bottle?
F
Fm
Childin', dawg, I'm hotter than Thamales
F
Fm
I been in the driver's seat,
F
Bbm
Fm
F
Fm
F
Db
Hotter than the motherfuckin' streets
F
Fm
Bbm
Fm
Ab
F
Fm
F
Db
F
Bbsus4
Bbm
Ab
Fm
F
I'm a sick breed,
comin' slicker than a six -speed
Db
they come and get me
Fm
F
Motherfuckers wanna trip,
they come against me
Fm
Bbm
I ain't trippin',
Ab
motherfuckers lookin' wimpy
C
Fm
Simply, I'm tempty
F
Motherfuckers wanna run up
Fm
Db
Hollow points and leave ya done up
F
With your brains leaking off
your fuckin' back
Fm
Bbm
Hol low points leave
Ab
you motherfuckers takin' a nap
Fm
F
Make you have bad dreams
like a flashback
Fm
Jumpin' on steelos like
F
I'm so big in the game,
they call me Sasquatch
Bbm
Big foot, stomp your door,
Ab
make your neck crack
Fm
F
Bottles actin' like some bitches,
that's it, what's that?
Fm
I swear these bottles
Db
got some pussies under nut sacks
F
Whore, you tryna disagree with her?
Watch me bust back
Bbm
Certified Southside platinum,
Ab
Fm
you can't touch that
F
Fm
F
You motherfuckers
Fm
can't touch that shit
F
Fm
Db
F
with a ten -foot pole, homie
Bbm
Not even if your punk -ass life's
Fm
F
You're still bringing
Db
F
that raw shit
Fm
Bbm
Westside til I die, huh,
Ab
F
Fm
yeah
F
Db
Bbm
it was meant to be.
Ab
Fm
F
Fm
F
Db
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