The What

  C                      Am
I used to get feels on a bitch
             F                     G                     C
Now I throw shields on the dick to stop me from that HIV shit
                     Am
And niggas know they soft like a Twinkie filling
F                    G
Playing the villain, prepare for this rap killing
C                    Am                    F
Biggie Smalls is the illest, your style is played out
                      G
Like Arnold on that, "What you talking 'bout, Willis?"
C             Am
The thrill is gone, the Black Frank White
   F                        G
Is here to excite and throw dick to dykes
C                             Am                        F
Bitches I like 'em brainless, guns I like 'em stainless steel
                   G
I want the fucking Fortune like the Wheel
  C                    Am
I squeeze gats 'til my clips is empty
      F                           G
Don't tempt me, you don't want to fuck with the M-E...


[Verse 2]

...T-H-O-D Man, here I am
        C                         Am
I'll be damned if this ain't some shit
                          F                  G
Come to spread the butter lyrics over hominy grit
         C                   Am                     F
It's the low killer death trap, yes I'm a jet-black ninja
                 G
Coming where you rest at, surrender
C                               Am
Step inside the ring, you's the number one contender
F                            G
Looking cold-booty like your pussy in December
C                     Am
Nigga, stop bitching, button up your lip and
     F                           G
From Method all you getting is a can of ass-whipping
C                    Am                         F
Hey, I'll be kicking you son, you doing all the yapping
          G
Acting as if it can't happen
     C                      Am
Your frontin' got me mad enough to touch something
             F                  G
Yo, I'm from Shaolin Island and ain't afraid to bust something
   C                        Am
So what you want nigga? You won't nigga
  F                     G
I got a 6-shooter and a horse named Trigger
     C        Am
It's real, '94 rugged-raw
F                 G
Kickin' down your goddamn door

And it goes a little something like this


[Chorus 1]
C                     Am
Fuck the world, don't ask me for shit
F                            G
Everything you get you gotta work hard for it
C                            Am
(Honeys shake your hips) You don't stop
     F                           G
(And niggas pack the clips) Keep on, bitch


[Verse 3]
      C                     Am
Verse two, coming with that Olde E brew
       F                           G
Meth-tical, putting niggas back in ICU
    C                                 Am
I'm lifted, troop, you can bring your wack-ass crew
            F                        G
I got connections, I'll get that ass stuck like glue
        C                     Am
Huh, no question, I be coming down and shit
          F                         G
Yo I gets rugged as a motherfucking carpet get
           C                   Am                       F
And niggas love it, not in the physical form but in the mental
                 G
I spark and they cells get warm
          C                Am
I'm not a gentleman, I'm a Method Man
     F                 G
Baby accept it, utmost respect it, and
           C                        Am
(Assume the position) Stop look and listen
               F                            G
I spit on your grave then I grab my Charles Dickens, bitch


[Verse 4]
              C                      Am
Welcome to my center, honeys feel it deep in they placenta
F                       G
Cold as the pole in the winter
             C                        Am
Far from the inventor, but I got this rap shit sewed
            F
And when my MAC unloads
          G
I'm guaranteed another video
C                   Am
Ready to die, why I act that way?
    F                       G
Pop duke left mom duke, the faggot took the back way
C                    Am
So instead of making hoes suck my dick up
  F                            G                           C
I used to do stick-ups, 'cause hoes is irritating like the hiccups
           Am
Excuse me, flows just grow through me
F                       G
Like trees to branches, cliffs to avalanches
C                        Am                         F
It's the praying mantis, deep like the mind of Farrakhan
                G
A motherfucking rap phenomenon, plus
C                     Am
(I got more Glocks and TECs than you)
          F                       G
I make it hot, (niggas won't even stand next to you)
      C                        Am                    F
Nigga touch me you better bust me three times in the head
                  G
Or motherfucker's dead, you thought so


[Chorus]
C                     Am
Fuck the world, don't ask me for shit
    F                            G
And everything you get you gotta work hard for it
 C                           Am
(Honeys shake your hips) You don't stop
     F                           G
(And niggas pack the clips) Keep on, bitch
C                     Am
Fuck the world, don't ask me for shit
F                            G
Everything you get you gotta work hard for it
C                            Am
(Honeys shake your hips) You don't stop
     F                           G
(And niggas pack the clips) Keep on, bitch