J.R. Writer - Bird Call lyrics

rate me

To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers

Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers

Whats the word y'all, flip that herb, raw

Clap...that's the byrd call

If the cops are coming, get to hop and running

Quick and drop that onion -- ain't no stopping, young'un

Put away that herb, raw, let us know the word or

Clap...that's the byrd call

[Verse 1 - J.R. Writer]

I still be where the weed flip, in the P's with the trees lit

So much water in the order, it's just leaving them seasick

With a ski in my V6, trying to skeet on a b lips

Down low, like I'm trying to keep her a secret

Act wrong, chrome, passing me dome

Next minute -- shit, I'm finished; she'll be flagging it home

But I always keep a straggler that's known to bone

And run through a lap faster than Marion Jones

Man listen, I still got them grams flipping, tan pitching

Corner to the damn kitchen

Gained a couple fans, had to make a transition

But I'm still in the hood like a transmission

No cat can match me, I'm passing fastly -- who's half as nasty?

I got it locked from here all the way to Cak-a-lacky

But keep a Mac for Scrappy, thinking its just laffy taffy

Shit, this beat'll be the only thing clapping at me

[Hook]

[Verse 2- Lil' Wayne]

Birdman J.R. and J.R. -- pigeons know who they are

Niggas gotta pay off

Snitches know to say y'all

If chickens on the radar, I’m at it

Cause I get it on my day off, ain't nothing like getting weight off

Scrape off the plates, shake off the flakes

Bad daddy make all the cake

I gotta lay off, the way y'all hate me like I’m Adolf

But y'all can't see me: Ray Charles

I steal whores

I’ll probably take yours

Because you peel off and I take off

Give me no space; whatever I want I takes

Whatever I need I bleed and succeed

Bitch nigga, don’t breathe on the weed

I’m fucking with them birds

Without feeding them seeds, that’s creed -- you don’t know about it

Full clip how I go about it, full body

Hard body, I’m like "God got 'im"

[Hook]

[Verse 3 - Cam'ron]

"Damn, homie

In high school you was the man, homie"

That's what a fan told me, shit

Same old cat, get his Kangol clapped

Brains blown back; dissing Dame, Dame don't rap

Shame on black, the game's so whack

Dame sonned you children

From in front of your building right to a hundred million

G'head pimp it, pimping; g'head act up, doggy

Get your limp on, pimping; if they acting froggy

Tell 'em back up off me; I come down, clap the forty cal

That's a badder story, not in my category

Mess around, Dame held Def Jam down

Pardon my back, jacking and the left hand pounds

Redneck found, Tec Tec pound

Duck duck goose, pump pump shoot

Shoot, lets get down

It may seem petty, but we all turn mean deadly

For green-fetti -- my whole team ready

[Hook]

[Verse 4 - J.R. Writer]

This ain't only bars and tracks, this is for the hardest cats

Flipping all the hard in back, make them catch a heart attack

When you see the narcs attack, let me know -- start to clap, clap, clap

A star with a deal, Chopard be on chill

The car is DeVille

It's real ill, heart in the grill

It's foreign, my nills

Cruise the city with the semi or the celly

On skinnies like I'm starving my wheels