J.R. Writer - You're Done (Tru Dyke) lyrics

rate me

(feat. Cam'ron)

[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 homos 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 nigga 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 asshole is rude, my cashflow is huge

You suck, what the fuck?! 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 niggas 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 fuckin' 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 bitch? 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 bitch 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, nigga 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 pawn stylin on who? I while with a few

Who would wanna here a whole fuckin album 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 butt

One of his workers told me how he really gives it up

How he really is a smut and he feminine as fuck

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 damn reggaton artists

Ur mouth's getting runned, I'm bout getting ones, your son

You aint coming out like ur gun

YOU'RE DONE!