J.R. Writer - Byrd Call feat. Cam'ron & Lil' Wayne lyrics

rate me

Cam'ron:

Yo J.R., they've been waitin' for you dog

They've been askin', you ready

You up muthafucka

Dipset, let's go, Writer

Hook

J.R. Writer:

To all my hustlers, rock-smugglers, strugglers, block-bubblers

Pushers, cookers, pot-jugglers

What's the word y'all, flip that herb raw

Clap, that's the Byrd Call

If the cops are comin' (what) get to hop and runnin' (run)

Quick and drop that onion (drop it) ain't no stoppin' young'n

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 its just leavin' ‘em seasick

Wit' a ski in my V6, tryna skeet on a B lips (Skeet)

Down low, like I'm tryna keep her a secret

Acura on chrome. passin' me dome

Next minute, shit I'm finish, she'll be flaggin' it home

But I always keep a straggler that's known

To bone and run to a lap, faster than Marion Jones

Man listen, I still got dem grams flippin', tan pitchin'

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 could match me, I'm passing fastly, who's half as nasty

I got it locked from here all the way to Cackalacky

But keep a Mac for Scrappy thinkin' its just laffy taffy

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

Hook

Verse 2

Lil' Wayne:

Birdman J-R and J.R.

Pigeons know who they are, niggaz gotta pay off

Snitches known to say all if chickens on the radar

I'm at it cuz I get it on my day off

Ain't nuthin' like gettin' weight off

Yeah, scrape off the plates, shake off the flakes

Bag that and make all the cake

Yeah, 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 takeoff

Gimme no space, whatever I want, I take

Whatever I need I bleed and succeed

Bitch nigga don't breathe on the weed, I'm fuckin' with the birds

Without feedin' ‘em seeds, that's green, you don't know about it

Full clip, how go about it, for a body, hardbody

I'm like “God got him”, yeah

Hook

Verse 3

Cam'ron:

Damn homie (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, dissin' Dame and Dame don't rap

Shame on Black, the game's so wack

Dame sonned your children

From in front of your woods right to a 100 million

Dead pimpin', pimpin'

Dead actor, doggy

Get your limp off pimpin', if they acting froggy

Tell ‘em “Back up off me”

I come down, clap the .40 Cal

That's a badder story, I'm not in my category

Mess around, Dame held Def Jam down

So pardon my back, jackin' in 'em lefthand pounds

Redneck found, Tec Tec pound, duck duck goose

Pump, pump, shoot, shoot, let's get down, down

It may seem petty

But we all turn mean-deadly for green ‘fetti

My whole team ready

Hook

J.R. Writer:

This ain't only bars and tracks

This is for the hardest cats

Flippin' all the hard and back, make 'em catch a heart attack

When you see the Narcs attacks

Let me know, start to clap

Clap, clap, I'm outta here

A star wit' a deal, ya pa be on chill

The car is Deville

It's real ill, pardon the grill

It's foreign my nillz (foreign)

Cruise the city with the semi on the celly on skinnies like I'm starvin' my wheels

Uh

Hook