J.R. Writer
J.R. Writer - The Pit lyrics
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J.R. Writer: Holla No sorrow, haze wrapped in a Tahoe For all those who saw J smash the Apollo yikes All covered in ice like I was standing in Times Square On "The Day After Tomorrow" holla I'm into bigger dough, sicker flow Rocky dial (what) make it possible to Rocky-bow hit your hoe I feel like Bigelow 'cause ever since I got the chirp number All I been hearing was bleep like the Springer show I got Poppa Al money you got pocket-style money (money) Doggie, these maurie's, try a thou' dunny Girl's dropping wild for me Soon as I step in, and want to grab on the gator like Crocodile Dundee See I'm the worst round, you'll hit the dirt ground I surf towns in Jaguars that's dirt brown I know it hurt clown, to see me laid in a suite Under sheets, stuffed with more feathers than a First Down Comfortable Hell Rell: Yo I copped a couple K's for the beef when it goes down I told niggaz that they couldn't eat in they own town Fuck off the strip, 'fore I bust off a clip My time is money I got to get the fuck off this brick Follow me around and we'll see the life of a hustler Follow you around and we'll see the life of a buster Beat down, smacked up, robbed every minute And my soldiers, they treat me like I'm God every minute Hot as a fuck, but don't get acknowledged enough This is grade-A piff you got garbage to puff And when it come to my rocks get it polished and buffed Same thing with your girl I get polished and buffed A few bricks on the table, I'm smoking by the pound If I don't blow I'm on the next thing smoking out of town I'm sitting on grenades, I'm sitting on some blades Yay, flip it, suede fitted sitting on my braids Nigga I got gats to tuck and Cadillac the truck I deal with mathematics homeboy and you ain't adding up Two plus two don't equal five I eat the truth but feed you lies you bitch nigga And I ain't ask to come through, man I'm barging out From now on you address me as the Hardest Out 40. Cal: I'm the kid from 140 babe 40 making all the cake My dope like tsunami, I kill 'em off a water weight You play 50 get your story straight Niggaz up in 50 minus 2, that's ya number due, the 48 Well do the math, the nigga's a problem You broke, ya dead broke when I kill 'em and rob 'em 40, niggaz think they can call shots. Y'all ain't got no wins you lost hair like a bald spot You want the Tupac Shakur props? But it's like a disease now 'cause all y'all got is smallpox And that's off top at ya door with 4 knocks 40 catch vicks in they halls like coughdrops Porsche box, school you how to sell the coke-a 'Cause "Diplomat" without the "t" spells diploma Tryna, tell you doja, the flame in ya ass The game in a smash, 40 keep his name in a stash You the type to go to jail, turn ya name to Shebezz I'm a menace, the O-Dog with the 'caine on the ave 40