J.R. Writer

J.R. Writer - Get 'Em songtekst

Je score:

Hook:

Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em ,get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em

We get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em ,get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em

We get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em ,get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em

Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em ,get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em

We get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em ,get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em

Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em ,get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em



Verse 1:

We hit the club, gripping on the ol' heat

Purple in the air, middle finger to the police

Then get a dub, I'm skidding up the whole street

Tires lookin' like ya nigga's sitting on some slow lease

So sleek, skipping wit' ya old freak

Who swear to god I'm the flyest nigga on the whole east

Get the drift, the party'll be pissed

When I buy the bar and only leave water on the list

Prick, I'm the shit, and known in the city

Prefer Cris' even though the Moe get me dizzy

So it's a rizzy, I'm 'bout it

Standing on the couches like I ain't got no home-training in me

Huh, you can't stop it, I'm harder to crack

So the DJ bring it back like he borrowed the track

I ain't never had a problem with that

I'm a problem in fact, a nigga really know a squad that can rap

Tell 'em go



Hook:



Verse 2:

We get it poppin', you know where I'm from

Everywhere I go them damn groupies wanna come

Cuz if them lil' chickens ain't drooling on my 1s

It's the G's on the lace with the Gucci on the tongue

Hun, I'm gettin' bread, don't confuse it wit' a crumb

But if I gots to reach up in this Louis then ya done

Them Rugers'll get swung, you'll drop in a ditch

The cops'll have to tape up the block like it's ripped

I'm so smooth but move the drop 'til it skid

Pockets fulla cheese like a mozzarella stick

Rocks on the wrist, yes I drop hella chips

Prepetual, I don't want it if the watch got a tick

Shit, how could I miss if I'm hot like a strip

With the cops on a bitch tryna knock you for bricks

Trick, watch ya lips or get dropped from a cliff

Cuz I can get you off for a box fulla kicks, like



Hook



Verse 3:

We keep the bar pissed, buying out the hard liq'

That make ya broad sit right under the armpit

She say the god sick, brighten on the arm wrist

Ainlt harm shit but I iced her like a mob hit

A hard brick, biter every bar of piff

You heartless, you's a writer wit' a start kit

I'm hard prick, stressin' 'em out

It's a mutha fukini drought 'til I step out the house

I was never a slouch, listen B, dog known

As the Royce to call it like a B-ball zone

Watch me breeze on chrome, with the heat all shown

In my Dior own, this ain't D Hore homes, holmes

Devoted to floss, showin' it off

A boss, fresh to death like some clothes on a corpse

They stalk, the O that you brought, yo what this cost

I tell 'em doze you'll get lost with the dough that you tossed

You couldn't go



Hook
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Componist: ?

Publisher: ?

Details:

Taal: Engels

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