キー: F minor
Intro 1
Gdim
Gb
Abm
Ebm
Bb
Ebm
Bb
Ebm
Verse 1
but I don't mean to diss ya
I was raised off soul food, washin' dishes
Ebm
B
I pray to God that you know
who you're dealing with
get back out of town, nigga
My four pound,
I make the sickest sound, nigga
Ooh, yeah, watch how I do now
I'ma show you how a south nigga's
I'm beatin' hard as a drum, man
I'm kinda like a gas station,
full of this octane
I'm in the kitchen like a chef,
B
Ebm
but the chef ain't in me
These niggas think I'm
beefin' for nothin'
Like I'm the French Prince of Bel -Air,
beggin' for somethin'
and who I be
My heart is dedicated to Ray J,
cause I'm a G man
Ebm
B
No promotion, had to mixtape,
the streets knew it
Ebm
Bbm
Ebm
You was in line, had a chance,
but you blew it
You got hit with a pack and you blew it
Same nigga got hit with a Mac
and bled fluid
I'm livin' proof of what a hustler is, man
tryna keep up with the beamer
Blowin' good perc,
gettin' head from a diva
Tryna figure out how to get cash faster
askin' me for work
Time he came home, Dami got jerked
Niggas want black dead,
I never keep the glock tucked
B
Ebm
So I plug with the regime,
B
Ebm
that's more money, more guns
My 4 pound n***a don't
come back around n***a
skip back out of town n***a
Ebm
B
My 4 pound n***a don't come
back around n***a
skip back out of town n***a
My 4 pound n***a
don't come back around n***a
skip back out of town n***a
My 4 pound n***a
Don't come back around n***a
Don't come back around, n***a
n***a
The mafia's off,
spring cokin' like Dream
The cartel, all hail, y 'all ain't like me
Got them all over the states,
yeah, makin' them bucks
know when we shoot things
M24, Swiss, easy to say things
hit you at eighteen
Boys, don't play, dawg,
if you gon' owe me
then it's your family
So just don't blame me, go on and pay me
Everybody told you he like John Gotti
In the drop overseas, fuck doing time
Laid back, smoking tons of that grapevine
It's the regime, you already know
Money over bitches and
that's how it
Hustle and fresh,
my team's the best
And money's how I organize it
We want it all, nothing less
Have it stretched and hit the complex,
I'm duckin' walruses
pictures of the Transformer
They wanna transport
him back to the precinct
They say that I'm a transporter,
send him to Sing Sing
Rico Law, they guilty
Give him a hundred years
Jets, trains, and automobiles
He's probably in another country,
Amsterdam and the Pills
Look at those wheels,
all the kids yell bingo
I'm at the baseball field
We're like familiar and
they watch me steal
Tell my kids get in the coupe
cause they know I got
Ebm
B
Ebm
the juice
B
Ebm
You
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