Ultramagnetic MC's - Poppa Large Chords
Tempo:
109.95 bpm
Chords used:
C
C#
E
C#m
Cm
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
[Em] [C#]
[C] [C#] [C] [C#m]
[C] [A] [C]
[C#m]
[C] I can't shake, I do my physical [Cm] fitness.
There's an [C#] answer to your pains and [C] misfits.
Pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, people have to pick em up.
Eat a roll with [G#m] gloves, then I come real sticky.
Gripping the mic, I plug it up in your ears, [N] poison brood.
I'm coming out like pigs, like Rango.
Miller causing bumps, I'ma eat em with popcorn and treat em like suction guns.
Coming out with wick, whack, wicky, flammable whack, blackjack, that's a fact.
Right in the sack behind your back, the punk rhyme and rap stuff, rap stuff.
Kicking up with a brain storm, brain swarm, rap storm, rap form, rap time, [C] rap rhyme, rap class.
From here to Felden Pass to continue.
[C#] Further on the high [C] tip, I roll and [C#] rock, [N] rock and roll, jazz and pop.
Blues and blues, dance and fusion, rain confusion.
Look at the lights, what a night [C#] on the town.
I'm Papa Large, big shot on the East Coast.
I'm Papa Large, [E] big shot on the East Coast.
[Gm] Knees [C#] back to funk, freak the funk, [C] hype the funk, swipe the [C#] funk and all that junk.
[C] I get busy on em, [C#] communicate with the world, [C] man, woman, [C#] a baby [N] boy and a girl.
Papa Large, looking out at the bombs drop, take a stride while you're facing Armstrong.
Look, learn to read, learn to write, learn to talk, learn to walk.
Watch your step, so I'm hyping right, so I'm hypomaniac, a rhyming psycho.
A Ricky Ricardo, a Guy [C] Lombardo, I'm sporting a rat [C#] top, an El [C] Dorado.
I'm rapping to [C#] Hollywood, swinging a [C] boulevard.
The rhymes are gang [N] type, I'm ready to pull a heart.
Jack of eights, king of queens, call me the deuce.
I'm pouring out like juice, hitting the top, feeling the rep, hitting the trip.
I never rhyme like them, on and on, on and on, on and on.
Until the break of dawn, I go overtime, rock the mic at night time.
Gang time, switching off to primetime, Pacific East flowing back into West time.
Ride the funk, put the mic in the East rhyme.
[E] Hyping dope, hyping flame, the move is smoking.
Yo, I ain't joking, rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp, [C] rhyme to ill.
[B] Rhyme to rock, rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, [C] rhyme to roll, rhyme to [A#m] destroy.
[N] Anything for your boy, on the microphone.
[E] I'm Papa Large, bitch, shout em in East Coast.
[C] I'm Papa Large,
[D] [Cm] you dripping sweaty.
[N] Pumping hard in your neck, cause I flow and broke from having your toast.
Speaking of style, John Mack wrote.
This in the mall, serving them with the mic stand like Prince and Michael.
Coming out with a big bang, the crowd is locked.
You can pay as the manager, run with the money, I pull the trigger and damn it.
Take it like we're serious, I may sound lyrical and very mysterious.
Rhymes grip tight, the rhymes kill war.
Son of a cent, how could I be Gilmore?
Grabbing the mic, you see the darkest shadows.
You are living hell, we're all talking about [C] it.
It's a funk at night, hands are running, brain's abiding.
We're coming out excited like I'm [C#m] Dracula.
A better man than Dracula, you're tacky, Lord, and not your [C] regular.
In fact, you [C#m] are, speaking of popular.
Rhymes are moving, they [C] can't be stopped with us.
Beaters and [E] soaps, do the rhymes that float.
Like a coconut short, burning up in your nose.
[D#m] That's a bad habit, stepping out on stage.
One, [C] drop the mic, come and turn the page.
One, look at the math up, my rank is higher.
The lyrical [D#] birds, the brains of [E] Butler.
Papa Law, big shot on the East Coast.
Yo, Papa Law, big [C] shot on the East Coast.
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [C#] big shot on the East Coast.
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [N] big shot on the East Coast.
[C] [C#] [C] [C#m]
[C] [A] [C]
[C#m]
[C] I can't shake, I do my physical [Cm] fitness.
There's an [C#] answer to your pains and [C] misfits.
Pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, people have to pick em up.
Eat a roll with [G#m] gloves, then I come real sticky.
Gripping the mic, I plug it up in your ears, [N] poison brood.
I'm coming out like pigs, like Rango.
Miller causing bumps, I'ma eat em with popcorn and treat em like suction guns.
Coming out with wick, whack, wicky, flammable whack, blackjack, that's a fact.
Right in the sack behind your back, the punk rhyme and rap stuff, rap stuff.
Kicking up with a brain storm, brain swarm, rap storm, rap form, rap time, [C] rap rhyme, rap class.
From here to Felden Pass to continue.
[C#] Further on the high [C] tip, I roll and [C#] rock, [N] rock and roll, jazz and pop.
Blues and blues, dance and fusion, rain confusion.
Look at the lights, what a night [C#] on the town.
I'm Papa Large, big shot on the East Coast.
I'm Papa Large, [E] big shot on the East Coast.
[Gm] Knees [C#] back to funk, freak the funk, [C] hype the funk, swipe the [C#] funk and all that junk.
[C] I get busy on em, [C#] communicate with the world, [C] man, woman, [C#] a baby [N] boy and a girl.
Papa Large, looking out at the bombs drop, take a stride while you're facing Armstrong.
Look, learn to read, learn to write, learn to talk, learn to walk.
Watch your step, so I'm hyping right, so I'm hypomaniac, a rhyming psycho.
A Ricky Ricardo, a Guy [C] Lombardo, I'm sporting a rat [C#] top, an El [C] Dorado.
I'm rapping to [C#] Hollywood, swinging a [C] boulevard.
The rhymes are gang [N] type, I'm ready to pull a heart.
Jack of eights, king of queens, call me the deuce.
I'm pouring out like juice, hitting the top, feeling the rep, hitting the trip.
I never rhyme like them, on and on, on and on, on and on.
Until the break of dawn, I go overtime, rock the mic at night time.
Gang time, switching off to primetime, Pacific East flowing back into West time.
Ride the funk, put the mic in the East rhyme.
[E] Hyping dope, hyping flame, the move is smoking.
Yo, I ain't joking, rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp, [C] rhyme to ill.
[B] Rhyme to rock, rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, [C] rhyme to roll, rhyme to [A#m] destroy.
[N] Anything for your boy, on the microphone.
[E] I'm Papa Large, bitch, shout em in East Coast.
[C] I'm Papa Large,
[D] [Cm] you dripping sweaty.
[N] Pumping hard in your neck, cause I flow and broke from having your toast.
Speaking of style, John Mack wrote.
This in the mall, serving them with the mic stand like Prince and Michael.
Coming out with a big bang, the crowd is locked.
You can pay as the manager, run with the money, I pull the trigger and damn it.
Take it like we're serious, I may sound lyrical and very mysterious.
Rhymes grip tight, the rhymes kill war.
Son of a cent, how could I be Gilmore?
Grabbing the mic, you see the darkest shadows.
You are living hell, we're all talking about [C] it.
It's a funk at night, hands are running, brain's abiding.
We're coming out excited like I'm [C#m] Dracula.
A better man than Dracula, you're tacky, Lord, and not your [C] regular.
In fact, you [C#m] are, speaking of popular.
Rhymes are moving, they [C] can't be stopped with us.
Beaters and [E] soaps, do the rhymes that float.
Like a coconut short, burning up in your nose.
[D#m] That's a bad habit, stepping out on stage.
One, [C] drop the mic, come and turn the page.
One, look at the math up, my rank is higher.
The lyrical [D#] birds, the brains of [E] Butler.
Papa Law, big shot on the East Coast.
Yo, Papa Law, big [C] shot on the East Coast.
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [C#] big shot on the East Coast.
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [N] big shot on the East Coast.
Key:
C
C#
E
C#m
Cm
C
C#
E
_ _ _ _ _ [Em] _ _ [C#] _
_ [C] _ _ [C#] _ _ [C] _ _ [C#m] _
_ [C] _ _ [A] _ _ [C] _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ [C#m] _ _
[C] I can't shake, I do my physical [Cm] fitness.
There's an [C#] answer to your pains and [C] misfits.
Pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, people have to pick em up.
Eat a roll with [G#m] gloves, then I come real sticky.
Gripping the mic, I plug it up in your ears, [N] poison brood.
I'm coming out like pigs, like Rango.
Miller causing bumps, I'ma eat em with popcorn and treat em like suction guns.
Coming out with wick, whack, wicky, flammable whack, blackjack, that's a fact.
Right in the sack behind your back, the punk rhyme and rap stuff, rap stuff.
Kicking up with a brain storm, brain swarm, rap storm, rap form, rap time, [C] rap rhyme, rap class.
From here to Felden Pass to continue.
[C#] Further on the high [C] tip, I roll and [C#] rock, [N] rock and roll, jazz and pop.
Blues and blues, dance and fusion, rain confusion.
Look at the lights, what a night [C#] on the town.
I'm Papa Large, big shot on the East Coast. _ _
I'm Papa Large, [E] big shot on the East Coast. _ _
[Gm] Knees [C#] back to funk, freak the funk, [C] hype the funk, swipe the [C#] funk and all that junk.
[C] I get busy on em, [C#] communicate with the world, [C] man, woman, [C#] a baby [N] boy and a girl.
Papa Large, looking out at the bombs drop, take a stride while you're facing Armstrong.
Look, learn to read, learn to write, learn to talk, learn to walk.
Watch your step, so I'm hyping right, so I'm hypomaniac, a rhyming psycho.
A Ricky Ricardo, a Guy [C] Lombardo, I'm sporting a rat [C#] top, an El [C] Dorado.
I'm rapping to [C#] Hollywood, swinging a [C] boulevard.
The rhymes are gang [N] type, I'm ready to pull a heart.
Jack of eights, king of queens, call me the deuce.
I'm pouring out like juice, hitting the top, feeling the rep, hitting the trip.
I never rhyme like them, on and on, on and on, on and on.
Until the break of dawn, I go overtime, rock the mic at night time.
Gang time, switching off to primetime, Pacific East flowing back into West time.
Ride the funk, put the mic in the East rhyme.
[E] Hyping dope, hyping flame, the move is smoking.
Yo, I ain't joking, rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp, [C] rhyme to ill.
[B] Rhyme to rock, rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, [C] rhyme to roll, rhyme to [A#m] destroy.
[N] Anything for your boy, on the microphone.
[E] I'm Papa Large, bitch, shout em in East Coast.
[C] _ _ _ I'm Papa Large, _
_ [D] _ _ [Cm] you dripping sweaty.
[N] Pumping hard in your neck, cause I flow and broke from having your toast.
Speaking of style, John Mack wrote.
This in the mall, serving them with the mic stand like Prince and Michael.
Coming out with a big bang, the crowd is locked.
You can pay as the manager, run with the money, I pull the trigger and damn it.
Take it like we're serious, I may sound lyrical and very mysterious.
Rhymes grip tight, the rhymes kill war.
Son of a cent, how could I be Gilmore?
Grabbing the mic, you see the darkest shadows.
You are living hell, we're all talking about [C] it.
It's a funk at night, hands are running, brain's abiding.
We're coming out excited like I'm [C#m] Dracula.
A better man than Dracula, you're tacky, Lord, and not your [C] regular.
In fact, you [C#m] are, speaking of popular.
Rhymes are moving, they [C] can't be stopped with us.
Beaters and [E] soaps, do the rhymes that float.
Like a coconut short, burning up in your nose.
[D#m] That's a bad habit, stepping out on stage.
One, [C] drop the mic, come and turn the page.
One, look at the math up, my rank is higher.
The lyrical [D#] birds, the brains of [E] Butler.
Papa Law, big shot on the East Coast. _ _
Yo, Papa Law, big [C] shot on the East Coast. _ _
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [C#] big shot on the East Coast. _ _
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [N] big shot on the East Coast. _ _
_ [C] _ _ [C#] _ _ [C] _ _ [C#m] _
_ [C] _ _ [A] _ _ [C] _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ [C#m] _ _
[C] I can't shake, I do my physical [Cm] fitness.
There's an [C#] answer to your pains and [C] misfits.
Pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, eat em up, pick em up, people have to pick em up.
Eat a roll with [G#m] gloves, then I come real sticky.
Gripping the mic, I plug it up in your ears, [N] poison brood.
I'm coming out like pigs, like Rango.
Miller causing bumps, I'ma eat em with popcorn and treat em like suction guns.
Coming out with wick, whack, wicky, flammable whack, blackjack, that's a fact.
Right in the sack behind your back, the punk rhyme and rap stuff, rap stuff.
Kicking up with a brain storm, brain swarm, rap storm, rap form, rap time, [C] rap rhyme, rap class.
From here to Felden Pass to continue.
[C#] Further on the high [C] tip, I roll and [C#] rock, [N] rock and roll, jazz and pop.
Blues and blues, dance and fusion, rain confusion.
Look at the lights, what a night [C#] on the town.
I'm Papa Large, big shot on the East Coast. _ _
I'm Papa Large, [E] big shot on the East Coast. _ _
[Gm] Knees [C#] back to funk, freak the funk, [C] hype the funk, swipe the [C#] funk and all that junk.
[C] I get busy on em, [C#] communicate with the world, [C] man, woman, [C#] a baby [N] boy and a girl.
Papa Large, looking out at the bombs drop, take a stride while you're facing Armstrong.
Look, learn to read, learn to write, learn to talk, learn to walk.
Watch your step, so I'm hyping right, so I'm hypomaniac, a rhyming psycho.
A Ricky Ricardo, a Guy [C] Lombardo, I'm sporting a rat [C#] top, an El [C] Dorado.
I'm rapping to [C#] Hollywood, swinging a [C] boulevard.
The rhymes are gang [N] type, I'm ready to pull a heart.
Jack of eights, king of queens, call me the deuce.
I'm pouring out like juice, hitting the top, feeling the rep, hitting the trip.
I never rhyme like them, on and on, on and on, on and on.
Until the break of dawn, I go overtime, rock the mic at night time.
Gang time, switching off to primetime, Pacific East flowing back into West time.
Ride the funk, put the mic in the East rhyme.
[E] Hyping dope, hyping flame, the move is smoking.
Yo, I ain't joking, rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp, [C] rhyme to ill.
[B] Rhyme to rock, rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, [C] rhyme to roll, rhyme to [A#m] destroy.
[N] Anything for your boy, on the microphone.
[E] I'm Papa Large, bitch, shout em in East Coast.
[C] _ _ _ I'm Papa Large, _
_ [D] _ _ [Cm] you dripping sweaty.
[N] Pumping hard in your neck, cause I flow and broke from having your toast.
Speaking of style, John Mack wrote.
This in the mall, serving them with the mic stand like Prince and Michael.
Coming out with a big bang, the crowd is locked.
You can pay as the manager, run with the money, I pull the trigger and damn it.
Take it like we're serious, I may sound lyrical and very mysterious.
Rhymes grip tight, the rhymes kill war.
Son of a cent, how could I be Gilmore?
Grabbing the mic, you see the darkest shadows.
You are living hell, we're all talking about [C] it.
It's a funk at night, hands are running, brain's abiding.
We're coming out excited like I'm [C#m] Dracula.
A better man than Dracula, you're tacky, Lord, and not your [C] regular.
In fact, you [C#m] are, speaking of popular.
Rhymes are moving, they [C] can't be stopped with us.
Beaters and [E] soaps, do the rhymes that float.
Like a coconut short, burning up in your nose.
[D#m] That's a bad habit, stepping out on stage.
One, [C] drop the mic, come and turn the page.
One, look at the math up, my rank is higher.
The lyrical [D#] birds, the brains of [E] Butler.
Papa Law, big shot on the East Coast. _ _
Yo, Papa Law, big [C] shot on the East Coast. _ _
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [C#] big shot on the East Coast. _ _
[E] Yo, Papa Law, [N] big shot on the East Coast. _ _