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j.r. writer – me doe lyrics

[chorus]
all i touch is c-notes so they love the stillo
i used to hustle kilos now i’m duckin’ po’s
ain’t got a bunch to spend but who can f-ck with me though
you rockin’ out to them but who can f-ck with me though
can’t you rappers see i’ve been the one to meo
whoever battle me you’re gettin’ f-ckin’ three o’d
i’m yelling yeah he spit but who can f-ck with me though
ain’t make the freshmen list but who can f-ck with me though

[verse 1]
look – i pick out my winnings when i’m done with cee lo
then i make your b-tch go get a couple of nemos
i see them haters dead but i won’t crush their egos
you think you gained a hit that sh-t it must be chemo
these n-ggas on their sh-t until i off somebody
gettin’ money and i’m sh-ttin’ richard porter potty
i get to the dough while n-ggas talk about me
it’s getting harder to fold i need some origami
[?] i be enterprising
while i’m penalizing while these pistols rising
the funeral deserve to see you n-ggas dying
i’ll interrupt your service like i’m [?]
forget about them, i feel like sammy
gravano, mobbin’ like i’m part of the sicilian family
n-ggas angry, they can’t stand me ‘cause it’s plain and simple
i be ballin’ for the record come and break your singles
tell them senders i will rearrange your temple
i’m mixin’ up my christians, they can’t wait to mingle
all them guys are snitches, you said they official
poppin’ bottles with them ‘till they got a case against you
no relation, all my homies waitin’
you set up shop and they can’t wait to do a home invasion
get to know the basics ‘cause i see you ain’t learned
i say your name if i have to put it in layman terms, zeus

[verse 2 – fred money]
look – who can f-ck with me though, who can f-ck with me though
i’ve got b-tches throwin’ head like it’s f-ckin’ cee lo
that’s your skeezy bird tell her to f-ckin’ go
we already did her greasy yo, you know ain’t nothin’ penal
in and out your b-tch, i’ve been busy
jumpin’ in and out the six, more than drizzy
everytime i time i take a trip, i get dizzy
run in circles, [?] in my city
who can f-ck with me, no one, luckily
sucka free, you a sucka, you won’t get a buck from me
f-ck a g, you ain’t sellin [?], flush a ki
shooter cut ya d, wore the same clothes for a week
then got f-ckin’ flees
yeah i take money, but ain’t nothin’ free
yeah they hate money, but i’m livin’ comfortably
screamin’ thundergang ‘till them p-ssy n-ggas under me
[?] thundergang get that p-ssy from in front of me

- j r writer lyrics

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