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j.r. writer – 9 minute freestyle lyrics


the dog is still up to toss, supporting a cut for cost
i’m lost in another source, come talk to a underboss
no matter if i sell l, still be in jail, h-ll
cause even my pel pel snorkel is b-tter-soft
it’s the dude with the eight-oh, make you chew the potato
i’m just the ruthless of ruthless — your best move is to lay low
i come through with the [inaudible] qb on rainbow
jesus head on chill, ill blueberry halo
i’m back to the raw, creep; my back to the wall, peep
the hard show of condos, relax down in wall street
still bagging for sure, cheap
plus, walk around with a bag of dust like i’ve been vacuuming all week
see, i smile — wild, i’m fly, child
shop til i drop, ock, they loving my style
no less than five thou’
so you better be talking the hair over your eyes if you ever say that i browse
we maneuver, yes — do it wet through the west
stretch no less than a stupid x
i lay the truth is left, uptown to dust down
my man buddha bless got it like the buddha fest
but also trust me, they all so dusty
i been eating well — got a little gordo husky
but the broads all love me
and keep a barbie that’ll make you swear you ain’t seen a meaner doll since chucky
regardless the artist, there’s no one as hard as r
try starving, but pardon r, you can’t harbin a monster, pa
r is too far from y’all
in other words, the cat with the squirrel is out of this world
a martian with bars from mars
i’ll target your entourage
larkins will part your mob
gotta get exotic whips — you ordering r&r
i floss up in foreign cars
drop six beretta rim, topless way before them little white girls in mardi gras
hardy har — hater, i laugh, wave around cash
this paper is major, player; i save some in stash
they stay on my…, grain in the dash
gators i flash; fresh, yes — my fitteds come cased up in gl-ss
dag, i been better; biz cheddar
…the cash, you g-sser
she’ll be down south faster than m. betha
the limb stretcher, a.k.a. chin checker
man, this rap is just too real for vendetta
heifer, who is this hard?
you is r-t-rd thinking you could move with the god
i found a boo, i menage; she picked her b00bs and her bra
a student, she cuban — her father into cuban cigars
and ma always down, holler
brown ‘pala s.s
fresh-dressed — chrome wheels, chrome grills; sounds proper
the town mobster who gave all the town toppers
club, tour bus, down to the crown plaza
yes, this the freak; s-x for a week
s-x til i peak, skeet skeet, mess up the sheets
neck to her cheek or next to her cheeks
yes, this is another executive at the executive suite
and g’ing them was nothing, keep up with your buzzing
remember night times and had to re-up with my cousin
broke day — sh-t, we had to be up and be shuffling
couple pies, kinda like the pizza in the oven
the streets were just corruption, measly and disgusting
triple goose, hit the stoop, heated my construction
ki’s that i was hustling — one for ten, two for twenty
steve martin, i could get em cheaper by the dozen
pushed for my own bread, took it from known dreads
on the hot block, ock, i’ll push ya with chrome lead
cats who fronted got wooden or chrome legs
and just pistol-whipped and now look like the coneheads
listen, doggie, chill — i’m a boss for real
i want the house in the villa, ill on the hill
so i’mma dog my deal, give it the scorch you feel
and be on billboards til a cat bored with bills
try hurting me, you’ll wind up in infirmary
nursery, burgandy, certainly emergency
punch to the face if it’s a d-mn smirk i see
you know [inaudible]
hey pal, sit in a ditch, trip where you trip
squeeze the five — need a ride? give you a lift
chickens just flip when they see the gliss in the wrist
don’t talk back, but they keep giving me lip
i’m sick, which be effing with me
the g fronting i see, i leave stuck in a tree
please, i will have you ski cuffed to a v
and drive your stupid -ss across the g.w.b., see
yes, dude sane; tec do aim
bloaw bloaw, get you slain — guess who’s blamed?
me — i’m the bad guy who fly in that stretch new range
with tv’s like a jet blue plane, mayne
yeah, you’re man’s bragging
no more d-mn cabbing
they didn’t stop for me when they saw my hands flagging
now you tan-bagging cause your pants sagging?
you ain’t a boss — you dorks sit on the bandwagon
and that’s just half the matter
who sicker, badder?
ask about me — i wave around the biggest dagger
ask about yourself — you’re the biggest slacker
stop admiring mines and go get a swagger
you doziered me — i’m someone no one could see
you’re broke as a joke
my rose-gold get freeze, the lowest degree
darn, so much boogers on my arm
you would swear i wipe my nose with my sleeve
so the birds roam; word, homes
they want my cell, h-ll
pager, e-mail, then my work phone
d-mn a chirp tone, cause straight up
the jacob got it looking like i copped a wrist full of birth stones
those are rocks for real — i cop on chill
i cop on hill, rag top deville
i got a deal, so i ain’t gotta deal
but i’mma still take out ten and go cop some krills
and have my cousin stretch
he gonna double, yes
bring out the hoopdie, put away that bubble lex
any sucker step, i’mma just rush his neck
with two toys, rude boy — i get nuff respect
it’s nothing to j to leave you stuck where you stay
have you clutching a trey, you’ll be ducking a stray
the l-st how i play
when you’re nice and up-and-coming, everybody got something to say
it’s either, “you sound like him,” “you’re wack, you’re silly”
you’re too tall, too small, fat, or skinny
he bluffing, he shaking, or
he gonna grow up to be nathin’
with not enough education
that’s why i stay up and be pacing
and yell eff you gonna love and hate him
if you don’t love me, you hating
not a jerk sick as this, with words ridiculous
he’s only nineteen — i got birth certificates
i know you mad as h-ll, you ain’t never p-ss a cell
come to bing, you just sing like pat labelle
and you wack as h-ll
listen, chimp — you ——- still would stink even if you used vagisil, h-ll
the chickens sit and yell
i’m sickening, you smell?
and glistening, you tell
plus i still will hit your whip up with some sh-lls
that’ll throw your v in the air quicker than pharrell
i’m way in the zone, dikembe malone
these small guys are small fries, leave this player alone
you ain’t waving on chrome
any casualties, this f-g’ll be at the academy
like, “here’s your statement, mahone”
don’t mistaken me, homes
for all this gray in the stone
i still squeeze a trey and let em lay in your bones
eff if you lift weights or you tone
i’mma empty and throw the pick in your face like razor ramon
uh, let me hear a raise in your tone
pr-ck, i k!ll
you gonna need a semi-steel
come to bricks, i move em semi still
and get the weight off faster than trim-spa will
my nills, i don’t get weed in the gone
but i might go get some weed when i’m gone
on the beach, had a reef keeping me calm
with a bad waikiki freak in some thongs
who can’t wait to breath on the bong
it feels good to walk past palm trees with trees on your palm
then hit her twice in the morn
and see how all these player haters want to beef with the don
cause vvs in my charm from my sleeves to my arm
23’s on the lawn, i just sleep on the yawn
cause admit it, you ain’t never seen n0body this sleek since the fonz
so don’t confuse the beast
for all the losers, creeps
if you rich, pr-ck, we got tools and heat
and take everything down to your shoes and sneaks