Helicopter Homicide

(La música de Harry Fraud)
Ayy, yeah

That bitch you call your wife was my first ho
I use to dress her on the blade in my fur coat
Now you kiss her on the mouth, she used to sniff coke
I had her on the same strip where they sell dope
No shame in it, posting ass off my [A]cell ρhone
The homies looking at you [A7like [F]a yeedo or a come up
Something in the set that they could feed on
I did my [A]thing up in these stɾeets and [Bm]that's on [C7]P-funk
Spraying paint up on [C7]these breakers, blood drip I get my [A]bleed on
Pouring fours of the Wock, I get my [A]lean on
Shit ain't been the same since G Wee gone
Couple more Fed' years, face will be [Am]full of those tattoo tears
When you [A7come home we're gonna whip you [A7in jet Lears
Where I bodied in the set, had to [C7]burn this bitch down
Ho was [Am7]greener than the Grinch, had to [C7]turn this bitch out

Yeah, look, uh
These niggas ɾap ɾeal good, but never seen paper
We major, nigga, the M's about to [C7]be [Am]a teenager
Conway Machine and [Bm]Harry fraud beat cremator
From where young niggas push Trackhawks, like [F]they Speed Racer (vroom)
Convertor switch on [C7]Glockianna with the green laser (uh-huh)
They tough on [C7]Internet, but pussy when they see you [A7later (pussy)
A splash of pineapple juice, my [A]Casa Mi' chaser
Bitches see me skip to [C7]my [A]Lou, like [F]they seen Rafer (ha)
Yo, why these niggas always need favors? (Huh?)
I'm tɾyna own a bunch of land, dawg, I need acres (talk to [C7]'em)
Do this shit independently, I don't need majors
Taking a lion's share of the bag
Owning the art when I'm the creator (in yo' bag)
The difference with us is y'all [Em]givers, and [Bm]we takers (uh-huh)
Ball [Em]up a Russian cream and [Bm]let the weed take us
Told niggas I'ma touch hundred M's
Them [A]niggas sneezed at the thought, but they gonna see later
Machine (look at 'em [A]now)

Uh, no problem, you [A7need somebody to [C7]blame?
Just say my [A]name and [Bm]I will appear
Just hit my [A]promoter, you [A7could book me for [Dm7]any arraignment
Book me for [Dm7]your crime scene, uh, book me for [Dm7]your shooting
I'll be [Am]there, oh, I'll be [Am]there, yes
It's me JuJu, Mr. Three for [Dm7]twenty-five
Akademiks jeans
I jump out, burners in both hands
And I'm shooting and [Bm]spittin'
Helicopter homicide, if I go we gonna all [Em]go
Gasoline bath the block
Flacco, light it