Chords for Fat Joe & Armageddon - Murder Rap (Acapella)
Tempo:
140 bpm
Chords used:
Bb
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
Uh-oh, uh-oh, let's get it over with.
Yo, Soundboy, turn the levels up.
Let's get it over with.
Seven Squad up in this motherfucker.
Where my real niggas at?
My Bronx niggas, my Fars niggas.
I see you, Little Hat.
Uh!
Ha ha.
It's time to take it to these niggas right here.
Yeah.
Yo.
Yo, who wanna spaz out?
Crunch time, blow your abs out.
Leave you in the fetal position.
With your ass out.
Ready to mash out.
Any crew acting like they the true facts of life.
Frontin' through the camera lights.
Despite, we hold it down regardless.
I got Def Jam sucking me like I wish you was my artist.
For starters, who's the largest cat?
Get a hundred grand for my most garbage rap.
Now how hard is that?
Everything we spit be hot.
Whether it's live or flex or in front of the chicken slot.
Grime down.
We really live what you rhyme about.
You see me posted up in the tunnel with my shines out.
Ice cold like Alaska when I pass ya.
Got girls shaking, losing they breath as if they catching asthma.
Headed to the bar to pop some bottles.
Now we in the car, heading home to rock some models.
All I hear in the background is Gucci and Prada.
But I'm trying to gas these bitches to screw me for nada.
We the best that done it.
Confess you fronted.
Anybody wanna test, I'ma stretch you wanted.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
I'm from far.
Days of legends.
It's age 11.
I was the cause of dope fiends catching AIDS infections.
Most of us are dead, but the rest is locked.
Running in the rec room to check me out on the block.
A CEO could get oxygen trying to change the channel.
It's like trying to take the flesh out the mouth of hungry cannibals.
Joe DeGuard, the flow is hard.
Known for packing two dozen birds like Noah's Ark.
I'm the realest ever, make you feel the pressure.
Catch you out of clubs, back you up, steal your lover.
You niggas softer than me, beat you out of the mix.
Tough talk, tough walk, but you pow like a bitch.
I see you down in the criss, I'm not hatin', I'm just aggravated.
I ask myself everyday, how these faggots made it.
Fuck around with the dawn and get decapitated.
I'm sick of hearing them songs of all the cats you making.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop [Bb] it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like [N] Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas moving on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop it, crack light to your back.
That's how daddy rocks.
I'm more advanced than how you're learning.
I'm like the force of space, balance the planets while they turning.
Pop your rosary beads, piss on your candle while it's burning.
Rush your widow's crib and pop your baby while he's burping.
Now I know you can feel the heat I generate.
Imagine when I penetrate your stomach and make your body centibate.
We can argue for days, but it's faster to drop five shots in your astronaut
before you pop a stash box.
Splash the brains on your bird's lap.
Swerve you on the curb, crash the range and push the front skirt back.
And murk after that.
Blurring curse words.
Yo, I pop that nigga's son run before we cast the first.
I'm a kill and he murderer.
Leave a nigga burping up.
Blood choking on chunks of his lung anterior.
Every verse that I spit's a personal rift.
I mean that ill-keen front and I'm a murder you shit.
Niggas play me while they stirring the bricks.
I'm like the feeling of the first time they ever held a burden they gripped.
Motivate a thug.
Straight up shoot the votes in his butt.
Energizing him up.
Make him want to open the mug.
Acting like it can't happen till I smack him in his Adam's apple.
Dead to rap and I don't want to battle.
I'd rather rush a studio session than shatter the booth.
Clap out your face.
Give the mic feedback than goof.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you feeling it hard like Joe the God's really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas move it on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop and crack like the back.
Yo, Soundboy, turn the levels up.
Let's get it over with.
Seven Squad up in this motherfucker.
Where my real niggas at?
My Bronx niggas, my Fars niggas.
I see you, Little Hat.
Uh!
Ha ha.
It's time to take it to these niggas right here.
Yeah.
Yo.
Yo, who wanna spaz out?
Crunch time, blow your abs out.
Leave you in the fetal position.
With your ass out.
Ready to mash out.
Any crew acting like they the true facts of life.
Frontin' through the camera lights.
Despite, we hold it down regardless.
I got Def Jam sucking me like I wish you was my artist.
For starters, who's the largest cat?
Get a hundred grand for my most garbage rap.
Now how hard is that?
Everything we spit be hot.
Whether it's live or flex or in front of the chicken slot.
Grime down.
We really live what you rhyme about.
You see me posted up in the tunnel with my shines out.
Ice cold like Alaska when I pass ya.
Got girls shaking, losing they breath as if they catching asthma.
Headed to the bar to pop some bottles.
Now we in the car, heading home to rock some models.
All I hear in the background is Gucci and Prada.
But I'm trying to gas these bitches to screw me for nada.
We the best that done it.
Confess you fronted.
Anybody wanna test, I'ma stretch you wanted.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
I'm from far.
Days of legends.
It's age 11.
I was the cause of dope fiends catching AIDS infections.
Most of us are dead, but the rest is locked.
Running in the rec room to check me out on the block.
A CEO could get oxygen trying to change the channel.
It's like trying to take the flesh out the mouth of hungry cannibals.
Joe DeGuard, the flow is hard.
Known for packing two dozen birds like Noah's Ark.
I'm the realest ever, make you feel the pressure.
Catch you out of clubs, back you up, steal your lover.
You niggas softer than me, beat you out of the mix.
Tough talk, tough walk, but you pow like a bitch.
I see you down in the criss, I'm not hatin', I'm just aggravated.
I ask myself everyday, how these faggots made it.
Fuck around with the dawn and get decapitated.
I'm sick of hearing them songs of all the cats you making.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop [Bb] it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like [N] Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas moving on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop it, crack light to your back.
That's how daddy rocks.
I'm more advanced than how you're learning.
I'm like the force of space, balance the planets while they turning.
Pop your rosary beads, piss on your candle while it's burning.
Rush your widow's crib and pop your baby while he's burping.
Now I know you can feel the heat I generate.
Imagine when I penetrate your stomach and make your body centibate.
We can argue for days, but it's faster to drop five shots in your astronaut
before you pop a stash box.
Splash the brains on your bird's lap.
Swerve you on the curb, crash the range and push the front skirt back.
And murk after that.
Blurring curse words.
Yo, I pop that nigga's son run before we cast the first.
I'm a kill and he murderer.
Leave a nigga burping up.
Blood choking on chunks of his lung anterior.
Every verse that I spit's a personal rift.
I mean that ill-keen front and I'm a murder you shit.
Niggas play me while they stirring the bricks.
I'm like the feeling of the first time they ever held a burden they gripped.
Motivate a thug.
Straight up shoot the votes in his butt.
Energizing him up.
Make him want to open the mug.
Acting like it can't happen till I smack him in his Adam's apple.
Dead to rap and I don't want to battle.
I'd rather rush a studio session than shatter the booth.
Clap out your face.
Give the mic feedback than goof.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you feeling it hard like Joe the God's really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas move it on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop and crack like the back.
Key:
Bb
Bb
Bb
Bb
Bb
Bb
Bb
Bb
_ _ Uh-oh, _ _ uh-oh, _ let's get it over with.
_ Yo, Soundboy, turn the levels up.
Let's get it over with. _ _
_ _ _ Seven Squad up in this motherfucker.
_ Where my real niggas at?
_ My Bronx niggas, my Fars niggas.
I see you, Little Hat.
Uh!
_ _ Ha ha.
It's time to take it to these niggas right here. _ _
Yeah.
_ Yo.
_ Yo, who wanna spaz out?
Crunch time, blow your abs out.
Leave you in the fetal position.
With your ass out.
Ready to mash out.
Any crew acting like they the true facts of life.
Frontin' through the camera lights.
Despite, we hold it down regardless.
I got Def Jam sucking me like I wish you was my artist.
For starters, who's the largest cat?
Get a hundred grand for my most garbage rap.
Now how hard is that?
Everything we spit be hot.
Whether it's live or flex or in front of the chicken slot.
Grime down.
We really live what you rhyme about.
You see me posted up in the tunnel with my shines out.
Ice cold like Alaska when I pass ya.
Got girls shaking, losing they breath as if they catching asthma.
Headed to the bar to pop some bottles.
Now we in the car, heading home to rock some models.
All I hear in the background is Gucci and Prada.
But I'm trying to gas these bitches to screw me for nada.
We the best that done it.
Confess you fronted.
Anybody wanna test, I'ma stretch you wanted.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
I'm from far.
Days of legends.
It's age 11.
I was the cause of dope fiends catching AIDS infections.
Most of us are dead, but the rest is locked.
Running in the rec room to check me out on the block.
A CEO could get oxygen trying to change the channel.
It's like trying to take the flesh out the mouth of hungry cannibals.
Joe DeGuard, the flow is hard.
Known for packing two dozen birds like Noah's Ark.
I'm the realest ever, make you feel the pressure.
Catch you out of clubs, back you up, steal your lover.
You niggas softer than me, beat you out of the mix.
Tough talk, tough walk, but you pow like a bitch.
I see you down in the criss, I'm not hatin', I'm just aggravated.
I ask myself everyday, how these faggots made it.
Fuck around with the dawn and get decapitated.
I'm sick of hearing them songs of all the cats you making.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop [Bb] it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like [N] Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas moving on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop it, crack light to your back.
That's how daddy rocks.
I'm more advanced than how you're learning.
I'm like the force of space, balance the planets while they turning.
Pop your rosary beads, piss on your candle while it's burning.
Rush your widow's crib and pop your baby while he's burping.
Now I know you can feel the heat I generate.
Imagine when I penetrate your stomach and make your body centibate.
We can argue for days, but it's faster to drop five shots in your astronaut
before you pop a stash box.
Splash the brains on your bird's lap.
Swerve you on the curb, crash the range and push the front skirt back.
And murk after that.
Blurring curse words.
Yo, I pop that nigga's son run before we cast the first.
I'm a kill and he murderer.
Leave a nigga burping up.
Blood choking on chunks of his lung anterior.
Every verse that I spit's a personal rift.
I mean that ill-keen front and I'm a murder you shit.
Niggas play me while they stirring the bricks.
I'm like the feeling of the first time they ever held a burden they gripped.
Motivate a thug.
Straight up shoot the votes in his butt.
Energizing him up.
Make him want to open the mug.
Acting like it can't happen till I smack him in his Adam's apple.
Dead to rap and I don't want to battle.
I'd rather rush a studio session than shatter the booth.
Clap out your face.
Give the mic feedback than goof.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you feeling it hard like Joe the God's really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas move it on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop and crack like the back. _ _ _ _ _
_ Yo, Soundboy, turn the levels up.
Let's get it over with. _ _
_ _ _ Seven Squad up in this motherfucker.
_ Where my real niggas at?
_ My Bronx niggas, my Fars niggas.
I see you, Little Hat.
Uh!
_ _ Ha ha.
It's time to take it to these niggas right here. _ _
Yeah.
_ Yo.
_ Yo, who wanna spaz out?
Crunch time, blow your abs out.
Leave you in the fetal position.
With your ass out.
Ready to mash out.
Any crew acting like they the true facts of life.
Frontin' through the camera lights.
Despite, we hold it down regardless.
I got Def Jam sucking me like I wish you was my artist.
For starters, who's the largest cat?
Get a hundred grand for my most garbage rap.
Now how hard is that?
Everything we spit be hot.
Whether it's live or flex or in front of the chicken slot.
Grime down.
We really live what you rhyme about.
You see me posted up in the tunnel with my shines out.
Ice cold like Alaska when I pass ya.
Got girls shaking, losing they breath as if they catching asthma.
Headed to the bar to pop some bottles.
Now we in the car, heading home to rock some models.
All I hear in the background is Gucci and Prada.
But I'm trying to gas these bitches to screw me for nada.
We the best that done it.
Confess you fronted.
Anybody wanna test, I'ma stretch you wanted.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
I'm from far.
Days of legends.
It's age 11.
I was the cause of dope fiends catching AIDS infections.
Most of us are dead, but the rest is locked.
Running in the rec room to check me out on the block.
A CEO could get oxygen trying to change the channel.
It's like trying to take the flesh out the mouth of hungry cannibals.
Joe DeGuard, the flow is hard.
Known for packing two dozen birds like Noah's Ark.
I'm the realest ever, make you feel the pressure.
Catch you out of clubs, back you up, steal your lover.
You niggas softer than me, beat you out of the mix.
Tough talk, tough walk, but you pow like a bitch.
I see you down in the criss, I'm not hatin', I'm just aggravated.
I ask myself everyday, how these faggots made it.
Fuck around with the dawn and get decapitated.
I'm sick of hearing them songs of all the cats you making.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop [Bb] it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you drilling hard like [N] Joe DeGuard.
Really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas moving on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop it, crack light to your back.
That's how daddy rocks.
I'm more advanced than how you're learning.
I'm like the force of space, balance the planets while they turning.
Pop your rosary beads, piss on your candle while it's burning.
Rush your widow's crib and pop your baby while he's burping.
Now I know you can feel the heat I generate.
Imagine when I penetrate your stomach and make your body centibate.
We can argue for days, but it's faster to drop five shots in your astronaut
before you pop a stash box.
Splash the brains on your bird's lap.
Swerve you on the curb, crash the range and push the front skirt back.
And murk after that.
Blurring curse words.
Yo, I pop that nigga's son run before we cast the first.
I'm a kill and he murderer.
Leave a nigga burping up.
Blood choking on chunks of his lung anterior.
Every verse that I spit's a personal rift.
I mean that ill-keen front and I'm a murder you shit.
Niggas play me while they stirring the bricks.
I'm like the feeling of the first time they ever held a burden they gripped.
Motivate a thug.
Straight up shoot the votes in his butt.
Energizing him up.
Make him want to open the mug.
Acting like it can't happen till I smack him in his Adam's apple.
Dead to rap and I don't want to battle.
I'd rather rush a studio session than shatter the booth.
Clap out your face.
Give the mic feedback than goof.
And yo, the gangsta's back.
Stop it right where you at.
Let a real nigga rock.
Real murderin' rap.
Tell them thug niggas listen to that.
Got you feeling it hard like Joe the God's really bringing it back.
And yo, the kid is back.
Leave it right where you at.
Let a real nigga hold that.
You probably won't clap.
Tell them thug niggas move it on back.
I'm feeling tight and I'm hot.
Ready to pop and crack like the back. _ _ _ _ _