Tonart: E minor•
Verse 1
G#m
Are you not entertained?
Are you not entertained?
G#
C#m
Is this not why you are here?
F#m
Turn the music up .
Let's go get him again.
C#m
It's time is for the money,
my nigga.
Brooklyn stand up
B
Em
Am
Never been a nigga
this good for this long
This hood or this pop,
this hot or this strong
With so many different flows,
this one's for this song
The next one I switch up,
this one will get bit up
Em
Am
These fucks too lazy to make up shit
They crazy,
they don't paint pictures,
they just traits me
Am
Soon they forget where they pluck
They hostile from the try
to reverse the outcome
Em
I'm like, huh, I'm not a biter
I'm a writer for myself and others
I say a big verse,
C
I'm only biggin' up my brother
Em
Biggin' up my barrel,
I'm big enough to do it
I'm that barrel,
C
plus I know my own flow is foolish
Am
So the rings and things you sing about,
bring them out
It's hard to yell when the
barrel's in your mouth
I'm in new sneakers,
dual seaters, few divas
What more can I tell you,
Em
let me spell it for you
W -I -L -L -I -E,
Am
nobody truer than H -O -V
Em
And I'm back for more,
New York's ambassador
back to finish my business up
Em
What more can I say?
Am
Em
Am
What more can I do?
Em
Am
I gave this all to you
Em
Am
Em
Am
I know this much is true,
Em
Am
Em
true
Am
You already know what I'm about
Flyin' birds down south,
moving wet off the step
Purple rain and the drought
Stuckin' on hose, brushing off my shirt
But ain't nothin' on my clothes,
at my chain
My name Young H .O., pitch to Ye faithful
Even if they patrol, I make payroll
Benz paid for, friends they roll
Private jets down to Turks and Caicos
Em
Chris case loads, I don't give a shit
Am
Nigga, one life to live,
Em
Bye without me being fly, fresh to death
Am
C
Head to toes to the day I rest
Am
And I don't wear jerseys,
I'm 30 plus
Give me a crisp pair of jeans,
nigga, button up
Escorts on my feet,
make my sightings complete
What more can I say?
Em
Google Play the beat, man!
Ha ha ha ha!
Woo!
Am
We gon' let this ride into the hook!
Em
I'ma snap my fingers on this.
What more can I say to you?
Am
Get my Chrome ad on. Let's go!
Now you know your ass is willy
when they got you in the mag
For like half a billy,
and your ass ain't lily
White, that mean that shit
you write must be illy
Em
Am
Either that or your flow is silly, it's both
I don't mean to boast,
but damn if I don't brag
Some crackers gon' act
like I ain't on they ass
I'm Arthur Stewart,
that's far from Jewish
Em
Far from a Harvard student,
just had the balls to do it
Am
And no I'm not through with it,
C
Em
in fact I'm just previewing it
This ain't the show, I'm just EQing it
Am
C
One two and I won't stop abusing it
Em
Am
The groupie girl stop false accusing it
Back to the music,
the Maybach roof is translucent
Niggas got a problem, Houston?
What up B, they can't shut up me
Em
Shut down I, not even P .E., I'm a ride
Am
God for give me for my brash delivery
Em
But I remember vividly
what these streets did to me
let these clowns nitpick at me
Paint me like a picanie
I would literally kiss T .T. in the forehead
Tell her please forgive me,
then squeeze into your forehead
Em
Am
I'm not the one to score points off
In fact, I got a joint to knock
your points off
Young, over the guard, nigga, blasphemy
I'm at the Trump International, ask for me
I ain't never scared, I'm everywhere,
you ain't never there
Em
Nigga, why would I ever care?
Pound for pound,
Am
C
I'm the best to ever come around here
Em
Excluding nobody, look what I embody
Am
C
The soul of a hustle, I really ran the street
that marketing plan was me
And no, I ain't get shot up
a whole bunch of times
Or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
And I ain't animated like,
say, a Busta Rhymes
Em
With the real shit you get
when you bust down my lines
Add that to the fact
I went plat a bunch of times,
times that by my influence on pop culture
I supposed to be number one
on everybody's list
We'll see what happens
when I no longer exist
Em
Am
Fuck this, man
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TunerE A D G B E
Akkorde & SongtexteG#m G# C#m F#m B...
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