You Don't Miss Your Water ('Till the Well Runs Dry): accordi di 
Craig David 
N/A8 visualizzazioni
Tonalità: E major
Verse 1
Dm
Eh yo, god bless the dead,
D
ya know?
Dm
And all my cats I know with the football
jerseys on: dont have no regrets
Ebm
Hold them numbers
D
Big up to the feds who tried to
Dm
catch me in 88, nigga
D
Ha!
Verse 2
Dm
D
Funk Flav, Mr. Mack
Verse 3
D
Eh yo, I cant face going to jail
Cuz my life is bullshit, man,
nigga fuck paying bail
Shit is on the third rail
Dm
D
On my tail is the feds, baby,
Frank? for club med
Niggaz wanna kill me, god
Dm
Scared I might wrap these niggaz
Entrap these niggaz
D
If the feds wasnt watching I
would clap these niggaz
I mean put a bullet through the fuckin
back of these niggaz
Phone ringing off the hook,
Ebm
probably tapped my niggaz
D
See the headlines now: "Mack
found in 5 rivers"
FDR, thinkin was it better
when I didnt buy the car
Didnt cop the bar,
Ebm
didnt buy my girl mother a new jaguar
D
Shit, my moms got the Continental
Dm
R with the backseat bar
D
Talkin about "my sons a star"
Little do she know I'm Caesar
and world?
Ebm
D
Crack is dead, I'm sellin X instead
Bitches in my bed will fill
your ass with lead
Keep givin me head 'til the tip turns red
Verse 4
Sit back and watch me butter this bread
D
Dm
D
On the run
Best three words to describe my life,
make the game my wife
On the run
Hustler, born and raised,
in the streets where I spent my days
Verse 5
D
I told my main chick, pack your bags,
She ain't listen
Chrome started whistling
and turned her Christian
Dm
D
Blew up the whole house
using nitro- glycerin
Dm
D
But the Expedition in the
garage was missing
Moved the nannies and
the kids to a new position
Dm
Intuition gave me suspicion
D
Shit is murder,
do I kill myself and fuck them niggaz' satisfaction
Or demand action,
pull out toast and start blasting
Young niggaz asking,
Ebm
D
wise cats only give a fraction
Streets is the young man's attraction
Ebm
I dug myself into a hole
Dm
D
Into a world thats cold
Dm
Pimps, players, bitches, ballers, hustlers,
Ebm
D
drugs, guns and thugs
Million dollar homes,
like Capone's, persian rugs
Gentlemen with fake hugs, turn to slugs
I'm a made man, paid man,
show no love
Clock's ticking, plot thicken,
probably written in a book somewhere
My fuckin life ain't fair
See either way,
i'ma make it off this earth without a trace
So if I ever see the judge,
Interlude 1
i'ma spit in the bitch face
Ebm
D
Ebm
D
Verse 6
Dm
Eh yo, faggots
D
Nah i'm sayin, all you sweet cats,
nahmean?
Ebm
D
Real gentleman dont need it
Verse 7
D
Its strictly drive- thru window meals
Enemies lurking every crack and crevice,
Dm
D
eating rocks for bre
Outro 1
Ebm
D
Dm
D
Dm
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