キー: G minor•
Intro 1
Gm
Dm
Cm
Gm
F
Cm
Verse 1
to make music
for the love of it
And other shit like money, power, fame
I didn't bother with
I remember as a young one
hanging posters in my room
Guns and roses and the clash
like every other kid
grandpa came along
He taught me how to play
on his raggedy guitar
And ever since that day
I was hooked on the stage
Wanting to get as good
as the Beastie Boys and Rachel
but you do not talk the walk
You don't talk the talk,
but you don't back to the spot
You hide behind your laptop
while I make a CD
You hope that I will fail
and disappear without a trace
But I'm whipping up a track
and take a piss into your face
but you don't back to the spot
You do talk the talk,
but you do not walk the walk
As I got older, I got bolder,
grabbed the mic
and I started to spit twists
I read men, woo, what's this shit?
I got in this little studio
I started making beats,
putting tapes together,
letting them in the streets
As a nervous kid,
I won my first battle on that stage
So if you make music,
I'll respect you any day
But it's easy to talk shit
when you got nothing on display
but you do not walk the walk
You do talk the talk,
but you don't back to the spot
and I don't mean to brag
But there's always lots of people
at my shows and that's a fact
So there you go again
whining like a little fag
And you're always quick to spit in
someone else's canny bag
but you don't back to the spot
Sing a dengue
You talk the talk
Sing a dengue
But not walk the walk
I can trust you
You mother gender hater
You is a traitor
I will bust you
You fucking instigator
All the time I break ya
You know me
You get smacked like Berlusconi
You left me at war
You owe me
If you got skills man you come show me
You talk
But you do not walk the walk
We do talk the talk
But you don't bite in the spot
Man, I see you can't handle this mentally
Do you really think I got
this far accidentally?
That is just about the dumbest
shit I've heard
You wanna be a real journalist,
go write about the billboard
But you don't bite in the spot
We do talk the talk
But you do not walk the walk
Hey, Tick Tock, the time turned real
I hooked up with a band
and I got a record deal
We played in state of clubs
and the crowd went wild
And the sound was like a mix
Funkadelic was the style, we didn't care
I ended up with braids
and all these feathers in my hair
So keep talking shit about me
or the clothes that I wear
But you can't do what I do,
Gm
F
Cm
Gm
Thank you so you
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