a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

j r writer – you’re done (tru dyke) lyrics

[jr writer:]
writaaa!
let’s have a pep talk, never my check short
i hop in da lex sport and pop up on west port
know my next tought? what you ever extort or export?
ranged around them h-m-s in escorts
i’m a vet dog, you’ll never see me lyrically
i wet dogs so step off. you better do your history
i did my history. this kiddos done
before i could thug a n-gg- he was jim jones son
what’s the big ol’ front? like his swag aint confused
i remember he was doing bathrobes and shoes
this -sshole is rude, my cashflow is huge
you suck, what the f-ck?! all your rap shows get boo’d
it’s murda!! them dogs’ll pop up with them burners
you worker. your boss is washed up like a surfer
the nerve of this herb to. i’ll hurt ya
your “made you look” was a fake neptune track with a jamaican hook
you a waste of push. how could you offend r?
ridin in a windstar, lying like you been hard?
you’ve never been scarred, or wise keep. so why beef?
i aint mobb deep. them n-gg-s 5 feet.
i’ll put you guys each in ditches yo, hit wit fours, critical, jigga know
that’s why we dig the ho
you dig it ho, we squeeze rounds pop
you so f-ckin’ wack you make bleek sound hot
so ease down ock. you wouldn’t kill squat
you on da roc cuz they had to fill a mill spot
you gettin deals stop, why lie you b-tch? you’re not as rich
only time you get scratched is when you got an itch
i’m talkin dollars, chips. some you don’t see in fronta
so call this b-tch anonymous cuz you aint seeing numbas
get the picture you dirty little nigra?
hov got you on the back burner like a trigger
who’s sicker, or slicka? i’ll rip ya with one line
one rhyme, dump mine, n-gg- this is crunch time
come at the don i’m dumpin them arms
your whole tape trash and it took you months to respond
this p-wn stylin on who? i while with a few
who would wanna here a whole f-ckin alb-m of you?
it’s true, and true, i will make you my lunch
you’ve been signed a while now and aint hit radio once
they aint playin that junk, if you gave it to funk
just to get spends you gon have to pay every month chump
i aint forget your boss “jigga, jigga what?”
he’s down at the office getting fingers up his b-tt
one of his workers told me how he really gives it up
how he really is a sm-t and he feminine as f-ck
yup, mention us then i’m sprayin on target
all true lyfe fans are just waitin on garbage
this aint jr’s hardest, you aint even roc
you roc lots with the d-mn reggaton artists
ur mouth’s getting runned, i’m bout getting ones, your son
you aint coming out like ur gun
you’re done!

- j r writer lyrics

Random Lyrics

HOT LYRICS