Key: B minor•
Verse 1
Bm
(feat. E- 40) (In
D
tro: Spice 1)
Bm
What's wrong nigga? What's
wrong huh?
D
You scared nigga? You
scared?
What, you can't talk with a mother
Bm
D
fuckin' gun in your mouth nigga?
Bm
D
I'm gonna give you a three count
Bm
D
I'ma blow your motherfuckin' brains out
One, what you think
about, what you thinkin'?
I'm proud, two (kinda slick
motherfucker)
(*Gun blast*)
A
D
Nineteen motherfuckin'
Verse 2
A
D
nine-
Bm
A
D
fo' com in' at cha
Gi- gi- gi- gi- gi- gi- gi- gi- gangsta
Spice motherfuckin' 1
Verse 3
D
(Spice 1) I
A
D
eat they ass up like a Swason with
Bm
the Thompson
D
fo'- fever, leave a - motherfuckin' crime
A
D
'fore he take his last breather
So come along take a trip
to the dirt track
Where the young niggas be takin' your
A
car and be peelin' your cap back
D
That's why it's A to the
Bm
A
mother fuckin' yay
D
A
D
A
keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay
D
Bm
mainly off gat, I'm goin' brain dead inside
D
A
Talkin' to my homies 'Scratchy'
D
tellin' me he wanna ride
on the nigga that peeled his cap so
Bm
D
now I'm on the street s
With the dead motherfucker
in the passenger seat
A
D
Bm
And it's fo' to the motherfuckin' five
A
D
G- a- gat that ass leave
'em dead in the ives
Red Rum on the late night,
Bm
D
catch my case right at the crack hut
Niggas better back up,
A
Bm
while I fix my sack up
D
Bm
D
Pistol whip, shit, kick that ass quick
Bm
D
Quick to rip shit,
A
D
cause I'm a Coca Cola Classic
Bm
D
O.G. and D- Boyz got love for me,
D- Boyz got love for me
(*Interlude*)
Verse 4
D
(E- 40) Da- tha-
C#
G#m
G
tha- da-
F#
tha- tha- da-
D
Bm
F#
D
tha- tha- da- tha- tha
F#
D
Da- tha- tha- da- tha- tha- da-
Bm
D
tha- tha- da- tha- tha
Verse 5
D
(Spice 1)
I'ma chuck a dead body on your
Bm
D
motherfuckin' lawn
like jump like Red gone,
A
nigga I'll be ready the funk is on
D
Bm
So call up the Paramedics and tell
D
'em that you're dy in' nigga
A
D
I roll strapped with no love
upon my fuckin' trigger
Bm
I lets my hair platt,
D
and took his mail stack
Now he's a stiff black,
cause I was at that
A
I'm dumpin' these niggas
Bm
in ditches back to back
D
Hangin' they ass from telephone posts
A
to leavin' 'em makin' 'em
D
bleed without no money
Bm
Gun me, hoe niggas wanna do that,
D
do that
But I go out and get a new gat,
Bm
D
new gat and let 'em have it
Nigga, so D- Boyz got love for me
Verse 6
D
(E- 40) I got
Bm
love for D- Boyz, cause
D
D- Boyz got love for me
Bm
I got love for D- Boyz, cause
D
D- Boyz got love for me
Bm
Nigga got outta line I had to chop him
D
Reached into my draws and pulled out my
strap (pull out your strap)
Motherfucker got outta place
Bm
I had to chop him
D
Reached into my fudadalooms and pulled
out my strap (pull out your strap)
Nigga got outta place,
youse got to pop him
Reach up in your draws and pull out your
Bm
strap (pull out your strap)
D
Rookie get outta line you better ice him
Reach into your d- dun- dun- duns and pull
out your strap (pull out your strap)
Just call me Chef Boyardee- Boy,
soda for bakin'
Cupcakes and cookies,
rappies I'm makin' huh
Bm
D
Tall cash, can't let eat up my grass
A
Don't make me have to come back
D
and split your parents house in half
Bm
D
A
with my 6RP226- Diana Ross cousin Nina - Mr. Meaner,
D
body bleeder
Heartless,
empty the cartridge roll
Smartless, get out and die so cold
Bm
D
Hollow point hot ones dipped in gar lic
I lives up the bar like an Alcoholic
Niggas think that I be bluffin' when I
tell 'em I'm a good shot
But I'm also into some other things
like ice picks and piano strings
So bitch, I'm tryin' to get nickerage
A
D
Open up shop, cotton candy and liquorice,
uh
Bm
D
(Outro: Spice
Verse 7
1 & E- 40)
Bm
Shoot 'em up now
D
Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin'
Bm
D
up on dat ass for nine- four
Da- tha- tha- da- tha- tha- da- tha- tha
Shoot 'em up now, byd- a- bye- bye
Blaow! (Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp,
spit nigga hahahahaha)
Bm
They call me Spiggity
D
one, Spig gity one
Me bust a cap up in your ass with big black gun,
byd- a- bye- bye
Bm
D
Chill man, me roll down
the block with my nigga
Byd- a- bye- bye,
Bm
D
Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass
Chill man, livin' in the city is a
motherfuckin' task
D
Bm
(What's a 7- 0- 7 on er... your trunk
D
nigga?) 5- 10
D
(4- 1- 5's?), yeah (That's four- fifteens
if y'all bitches didn't know)
Yeah bitch,
D
stupid ass hoes
(Da- tha- tha, sing it with me,
D
da- tha- tha- da- tha- tha, ah yeah)
D
(*Whistling*)
D
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