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j.r. writer - i got em (jay-z diss) lyrics

[intro]
ok
back at it (uh+uh)
writer, huh, these n+ggas gotta be crazy saying we ain’t the best in the muhf+ckin’ streets (true story)
huh, uh, uh

[verse]
ok, i get ’em, got ’em, dot ’em when i aim it, flame it, sit ’em, drop ’em, how can i explain this?
man, it’s the change of gaup of cash (that what?)
that make ’em block the path but my shottie’s blast’ll stretch ’em like a pilate class (blaow)
leave his snotty ass coughing up blades, off with his braids now he gotta sport him some waves ([?])
sh+t, i might toss a grenade, check the back of the caddy, lil scr+ppy ain’t see more k+k+k’s (nope)
they’ll mourn you for days, еvery morning in shades (i miss you)
i warned you, i’m paid, it’ll cost you a gravе ([?])
so doggy behave (or what)
or talk to the pave, that’s the pavement when it’s sprayin’ from all different ways, hey
the paper mâché, i’m tearin’ ’em up (how?)
lookin’ d+mn good, can’t put pair construct, you dare me to what?
get stomp to floor, launching the four, i let ’em have it like i ain’t want it no more then it’s (where?)
off to the tour, off to explore, crossing a shore, a don juan, come talk to me wh0re, i’m raw (holla)
f+ck the corner store, we cornered the store (uh+huh)
had ’em crawlin’ for more, you ain’t ballin’ at all, dog (what?)
come and cop (cop)
you’ll float up to the top, this pure dope, off boat, it’s over for the roc (it’s over)
you dojas need to stop ‘fore we roll up on your drop with a toaster out the box like show me what you got (you got)
give it up or [?] shoot, you show me that your not (cl!ck clack)
give me that, that too, don’t show me just the watch ([?] [?])
who told you, you was hot?
or sick with the pad, we rich and he’s mad, that camel needs a cigarette ad, look (hehe)
i’m drippin’ in swag, piff out the bag, shiftin’ the jag, i’ll stab any b+tch you don’ had, f+g (f+g)
you’s a drag, you gon’ pop up who? (huh?)
you just mad that your team is the washed up crew (true story)
couple months you’ll be washed up too
bout 40 years old, they’ll rename your ass 40 year hov, ho (ho)
this flow it is cold, i talk and ya froze
my talent, [?] out this planet and orbit the globe, woah (woah)
now you know i’m raw, as raw in your nose, somethin’ (what?)
fresh out the jar, off of the stove so
stop aiming them threats or lay where you step
one measly little soldier couldn’t takedown the set, holla
[outro]
nope
not us
not the movement
there’s no stoppin’ us, no [?]
‘specially not you
it’s over for you brother
it’s over, man, put it up, ya washed up, dog
your not jordan, man, stop thinking your f+ckin’ jordan, your magic
you used to be sick
your not it, man, your not what the f+ckin’ people want, man
your swag need v++gr+, stop injecting yourself with that sh+t, man
for real, man
give it up, put it up, brother
they rollin’ wit us, man, they f+ckin’ wit us, man, the streets is ours
shouts to jim jones, i mean
let us ball, man, god d+mn
shouts to my man k!lla
juelz santana, h+ll rell, 40 cal
the whole muhf+ckin’ set, the whole harlem
holla
and that’s that, man
let’s keep gettin’ it, man
you already know the independent money is never funny
[?]
writer’s block part 4
top of ’07
let’s go in, man
my next album write of way
it’s goin’ down, man
dukedagod, more than music, december 26, merry christmas, motherf+cker

- j r writer lyrics

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