3.14 Apple Pi taby ukulele według Bo Burnham

Intro: Am, G, F, E (x2)


     Am                   G
Yo I don't got bros, dont hang on the streets
       F                    E
I dont beat my hoes, I only beat my meat.
Am                        G
Don't womanize 'cause you know it's true
              F                                  E
That when you look in their eyes you see they're people too
             Am      G      F      E
Mother effin suffrage
             Am      G      F      E
Mother effin suffrage!


    Am                      G
You know I'm a gangsta, you know I do coke,
      F                            E
But I had to go to diet, 'cause it burnt my throat.
Am                       G
I've been doin drive-bys all of my life,
          F                           E
'Cept the bullets are newspapers, the car is my BIKE!
Am      G      F      E
Yeah!
              Am      G      F      E
The car is my bike!


         Am   G
Yo yo yo 3.14 apple pi,
     F                              E                       Am
I'll whip it out, clean it off, and stick it in her eye.
                   G                F      E
And by "it" I mean contact lens...
              Am      G      F      E
Unless it got dirty


         Am   G
Yo yo yo 3.14 apple pi,
      F                          E
I got rhymes and flows that make Hitler cry.
Am                            G
George Bush won't, he'll just yell and rant
           F             E
But he's a PresiDONT who AmeriCANT
Am    G            F                E
Oh my God, that is good, the kid is good
  Am                G      F                E
I know, I know him, yup, I swear to God!


       Am                          G
I spit gangsta hymns, 'cause I'm a gangsta straight,
           F                   E
I think of 20 inch rims when I masturbate.
      Am                        G
We're gonna be late, there's no time to waste,
           F                           E                  Am
'Cause the girls that I date have a particular taste...
                G       F     E
The taste of my weiner
                Am      G     F     E
The taste of my weiner!


         Am   G
Yo yo yo 3.14 apple pi, 
    F                        E
Why was I born white? No one quite knows why.
Am                         G
Gansgsta sell their rocks, I got a collection
F                                E
You couldn't get a rise out of a yeast infection.


            Am                       G
Yo yo I'm a lyrical heretic but I'll make you laugh,
F                              E
Hit you with rhetoric, that'll cut you in half.
        Am                          G
I don't need to be a clown, I don't need to be nice,
     F                        E
How 'bout you sit down, and I serve you slice...


      Am   G           F                        E
Of my 3.14 apple pi my voice is so smokey it'll make you high
Am                        G
Here's a confession: it's all about me,
F                         E
Here's my impression of a broken jet ski.
Am                  G              F           
Buh duh da duh duh, da da da da da duh duh duh da da
E                Am    G     F     E
Fill me with gas!


Am                  G
Here come the puns, here come the puns
Am                  G
Here come the puns, here come the puns


Am                         G
All you little thugs wanna mess me with me?
          F                               E
Know that I've been doin' drugs since the age of 3.
  Am                         G
I took my cereal, stabbed it open with a knife,
F                           E
Snorted that shit and I got high on LIFE.


            Am                             G
Yo yo a guy asked me for change, saying my mind was too dense,
           F                       E
I said you won't make cents if you don't make sense. 

Yeah, big finale!


Am                                         G
You know I flow and show it, you know that Bo know it,
                 F                                E
You're lawn I'll mow it and grow it cause he's a sho' poet.
              Am                            G
Yo my rims be spinning I winning, like Adam I be sinning.
       F                              E
Potato skinnnin' and knittin' and separate those linens.
Am                     G
And in my eyes you see flies, and though you people tries
F                         E
Just to disguise all your lies, but baby I be wise.
Am                    G
You know I did it and shit it you brothers couldn't hit it,
F                            E                Am       G    F    E
Then you try to ride it, too late - I already spit it. 
          Am   G     F     E
I already spit it!