Тональность: C major
Verse 1
E
Dm
Fm
Welcome back.
F
We're here on Bad Boy Television,
and I'm Trevon Jones,
and I've been conversing
with the Mad Rapper,
and quite frankly, he's very mad.
Fm
F
We're going to try to find out why,
so we'll take some questions
at this point
from our studio audience.
F
please stand and state your name
Fm
and where you're from.
Hi, my name is Shay,
F
and I'm from New Rochelle,
Fm
and I just don't understand
why you so mad?
Yeah.
Like, what are you so mad about?
Yeah, you know, yo,
you want to know why?
F
Yo, first of all, you can't be asking me no
You know what
Fm
Who the fuck is you?
You know what I'm saying?
You can't be asking me no
question.
I'm going to tell you why I'm mad.
I'm going to tell you why I'm mad.
I'm going to tell you
why I'm mad.
F
These niggas is making 500 ,000 videos,
you know what saying?
They driving around in hot cars,
you know what I'm saying?
Fm
They got bitches, they got all that shit.
F
I'm still living with my moms,
you know what I'm saying?
You know what I'm saying?
I'm making records.
F
I ain't made no money yet.
This my fourth album, yo.
This my fourth album.
I ain't made a dime yet.
This nigga made one album,
he making wild records.
Fm
F
that ready to last shit it was I it was I you don't say she was I it was cool but my shit more John Blaze than that I got John Blaze shit
Fm
F
Fm
F
Fm
F
and ain't I was recognizing a nice and I re cognize and fuck is that who's you to be asking me questions
C
F
C
F
C
F
And you, this goes out to you,
this goes out to you,
C
F
this goes out to you,
what's short like leprechauns
As I crush so -called willies,
thugs, and rapadons
C
F
Get in that ass, quick, fast, like Ramadan
It's that rap phenomenon,
C
da -da -da, fuck poppa
F
You got to call me Francis, M -H,
white intake, like totes
Bb
F
C
F
Toe iron, what's told in shootouts
stay low and keep firing
C
F
C
Keep extra clips for ex tra shit
E
Who's next to flip on that cat
F
with that grip on rap
The most shady, Frankie baby
C
Ain't no tellin' where I may be
F
May see me in D .C. at
Howard homecoming
With my man Capone dumb
C
and fuckin' somethin'
F
You should know my C -level
Went from 10 G's for flow
Bb
F
to 30 G's a show
C
F
To all G's with O's
I never seen before
C
So, Jesus, get off the notorious
F
Mean us before I squeeze and bust
Bb
F
If the beef between us, we can settle it
C
With the chrome and metal shit
F
I make it hot like a kettle git
You're delicate, you better git
Who sent ya?
C
You're still pedal shit
F
I got more rides than Great Adventure
C
Biggie, how are you gonna do it?
F
Kick in the door, wave in the 4 -4
All you heard was Papa
don't hit me no more
C
F
Kick in the door, wave in the 4 -4
All you heard was Papa
don't hit me no more
B
C
F
Kick in the door, wave in the 4 -4
All you heard was Papa
don't hit me no more
C
F
Kick in the door, wave in the 4 -4
C
All you heard was Papa
don't hit me no more
F
On your mark, get set,
when I spark you're wet
Look how dark you get
when you're marked for death
B
F
Should I start your breath
or should I let you die?
In fear you start to cry, ask why?
C
Lyrically I'm worship,
F
don't front the word sick
You cursed it, but rehearsed it
C
F
I drop unexpectedly like bird shit,
C
you herbs get stuck quickly
for royalties and show money
Don't forget the publishing,
F
I punish them, I'm done with them
Son, I'm surprised you run with them,
C
I think they got cum in them
F
Cause they, nothing but dicks,
Bb
tryna blow up like nitro
B
F
Mad I smoke hy dro,
rock diamonds that stick
Got paid off my flow,
rhyme with my own clip
C
Take tricks to Cairo,
F
laying with your bitch
I know you praying you was rich,
fucking prick
C
When I see you, I'ma kick in the door,
All you heard was, Papa,
don't hit me no more
C
F
Kick in the door, wave in the 4 -4
All you heard was, Papa,
don't hit me no more
B
C
F
Kick in the door, wave in the 4 -4
All you heard was, Papa,
don't hit me no more
B
F
Kick in the door, wave in the 4 -4
C
All you heard was, Papa,
don't hit me no more
F
This goes out for those that
choose to use
Disrespectful views on the king of NY
C
F
Fuck that, why try,
throw bleach in your eye
Now you're braillin' it,
snatch that light shit, I'm scalin' it
C
F
Conscience of your nonsense,
in 88, sold more powder than
Bb
C
Johnson & Johnson,
B
F
toke steel like Bronson, vigilante
Cm
You wanna get on, son,
F
Ain't no other kings in this rap thing,
they siblings
Nothin' but my children, one shot,
C
they disappearin'
F
It's ill when MCs used
to be on party shit
Took home, ready to die,
listen, studied shit
C
F
Now they on some money shit,
successful out the blue
They lightweight, fragile,
Fm
C
my 9 mili make the whites shake
F
That's why my money never funny,
C
an d you still recoupin'
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid
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