调：D# minor
Intro 1
Dm
Am
Verse 1
I ain't curtain
I'm the modern version
of Tyler Durden
Marks keep fire burning, diverging
Build until minds merging
Refined wording, I'm a surgeon
The rifles supply Persian
Foreign rides swerving
Till their eyes blurring
Style certain to spark deep contemplation
Waiting low -key in the back blocks
Flashbacks of chapters in the sandbox
Got anonymous ties, hacking laptops
I'm black ops over samples an
Detonate C4 and blow padlocks
50 -caliber rounds turn
the last watch
are fucking mascots
D
Am
The fan props act annoying as spam bots
No had knots, no packaging, crack rocks
Nah, I just rock to the last clock,
In hell smoked on a burgundy raincoat
And under the ground circuitry
that remain hope
I bring pure desert heat and flamethrow
Rain and snow,
last of a dying breed
Unidentified stealth bomber on the wire feed
I dig all types, queens,
every size and creed
Looking for fertile soil
I desire to see F -16,
fly at the highest speed
Full throttle,
supply in your time of need
Welcome to the jungle where the lions feed
On other lions, survival,
Dm
Am
All right, what's next?
Okay, stop grinning.
When I get inside,
you go back to the front seat and wait.
Even if a cop comes and writes you a ticket,
you don't move the car.
Understood? Dad, what's all this for?
You know why the Yankees always win,
Frank?
Because they have Mickey Mantle?
No, it's because the other teams can't
stop staring at those damn pinstripes.
watch this
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