Beats By The Pound Chords by Butterfingers

[Am] _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
We don't know what you want, we got it in the trunk
_ We sell these bits by the pound _
_ They don't have the snow, we always have the show
We sell these [C] bits [Am] by the pound _
We're selling beats by the pound and we don't have to prove it
There's no spackin' around, we're moving units
I drink two nits and I move it for our tune chicks
Dutch courage is encouragement to do shit
Hit you with the new shit as often as possible
Our rots are full of gigs and my lyrics are unstoppable
Back to back, putting raps to tracks
Package it and wrap it into plastic bags
And like Maxi Pads, it's that [A] time of the month
The [Am] show is heavy flow, as locals soak in the [A] dark
Keep smoking your [Am] bloods and get rekt to the track
I'm one of three and no D and no one niggas spittin' rap shit
They're kicking back to the flow and the intro for info
Moving River City, a window, a mic strap, a window
Putting it down, stuff for the masses, [C] beats by the pound _ _ _
[Eb] _ _ _ You [Am] don't know what [C] you've [Am] got over
We got it in the trunk
[Dm] We sell these [Am] bits by the pound
_ _ They don't have the snow, we always have the show
_ We sell [C] these bits [Am] by the pound
We sell these bits by the pound, break it down to the ounce
Got the bag in my shoe, yo, I'm ready to bounce
So shit, I got the ill shot, got what you need
I got the man, fucking this'll be your insta bleed
You ever get an LP?
Nah, just got weed, not a metaphor for rhythm
[A] It's the marijuana seed to the [Am] plant to the bag
The bolt to the lung to the brain
The [A] beat to the funk that I brung
Hey Nick Whitey, shut the fuck up man
Pass me the scale, we gotta [E] cut up and
Sell drugs man, that's what's happening
Forget [Bb] about beats, forget about [Am] rapping and
Snapping in the clips with the quality [A] shit
A six shooter packed [E] up with stone knowledge
And [Am] spit that will demolish your clip
Quick pass me the snippers, quickie bag scales
Money clips, roll thick with truthies
The bitter slip of life to the back of the brain cells
We got medication to release where the pain dwells
And they swell low with the baddest breath
Long scrape like custody, black death
You don't know what you've got over
We got it in the trunk
We sell these bitches butter and oil _
_ _ They don't have us know
We always man the show
We sell these bitches butter and oil
_ _ _ Yo, one two
P and O Eagle letter Nick one
Lot of fingers
That would do
_ _ Getting butter on my fingers
Breaking bread with crude techniques
I got twelve hundred twenty [A] two
Catch these at [Am] use
Then I get up, rock that
Can't remember all the beers or
Forget all the girls I've knocked back
Backstage, way back
With way crude putter
Beat the scene like a cop with your hood up Bounces bounce
Triple A's get putter
The pounds, the sound
The jigs up
It's the big stuff
Though I float through snow, not so much Filter _ the Go nuts
Rain hail, dripping of pale ale
Works well, travelled and fresh
Me and the graph on the state rail
Working and gigging
Living and swigging
To bits by the pound in Brisbane
I hit the road jack, always dope
Proper rhyme, playing nine at ya
Local goat track
Scribbling shit in my notepad
While I'm hitting stages from home-baked to woman Go nuts
Valley driven, the blood visionary
Always play the show but never show up early
It's clear yo, through your stereo
Lope however you cut
Inetric or imperial
Ross steady, with Eddie
Me and Miko
Beats by the pound
[Ab] Snares by the kilo