Royce Da 5'9" - Writer's Block lyrics

rate me

Yeah, yeah

I don't know what else to say

I can't, I can't think of nothin'

I'm stumped

Here we go (Here we go)

On your feet (On your feet)

Stand up (Stand up)

Everybody hands up (Hands up)

Uh, man, I dunno, man

Everytime I go to think of something played out to say

You already said it

I ain't calling names cause all of y'all the same, plus

I'm the king, all my past pain all done changed up

All these plains, all these lames, since the Slaughter's came up

Cause they know they hands tied, feet ball and chained up

Niggas be quick to call me the new 50 Cent

Because of my relationship with Marshall

Used to make me a little partial, but here's the brain fuck

We the same cuz

I'm probably about to fall out with a young buck

While I attempt to fuck the fucking game up

Bitch, splat, only thing I fear in here is chit-chat

You are hearing bars like your ear against a Kit Kat

Shady guys like the Navy, drive, wavy bye-bye

Maybe my Glock can turn your top to baby's Maybach

My shit is powerful, literally sick, trust me nigga

It's ugly to kill a thing if the bigger I get

The more disgusting and fuckin' disfigured it gets

Niggas expect me to go pop, oh, stop

Y'all about the champagne, I'm about the toast

I, only fuck with mailmen with heroin from Boca

Niggas that'll smoke you while you staring in your postbox

Only incense he enlightens when he's thinkin'

While that sinks in, I got a Brinks ink pen

I'm back, muthafucker

Notice the flyness on the cover of the XXL

I'm back from the dead like Tobey Maguire from the Brothers

How y'all realer? (How y'all realer?) If I said it, I did it

If I didn't, I seen it first-hand like a car dealer

Give up the throne, your lease up, I am the Mona Lisa

That decoded Da Vinci Code, you throwin' your piece up

Is a waste of fake like a phony B-cup

Nigga, the mistake was like my only teacher

Wait 'til they get a load of me 'cause

I've got Gucci's on my feet

Diamonds on my neck

Diamonds on my wrist

Bitches on my dick

But y'all already said that

Choppers in the trunk

Models in the front

Bottles in the club

But I don't give a fuck

But y'all already said that

Cause sometimes I feel like it's so hard

For me to come up with shitty to say (Ayyyyyy)

I'm at a loss for words 'cause y'all already said it all

I think I'm runnin' out of cliches

I'm gettin' writer's block

Psyche!

When I stand up in this booth, niggas notice it

Sittin' on the same boat that Noah built

Floatin' on the same water Moses split

Poetry in motion, but we sittin' on your grave site, overkill

Aren't you tired? Why are you so loud? Quiet!

Real dudes move in silence like a mute drivin' a new hybrid

You dudes is too excited

You a dude that'd try to sue a dude that's suicidal

You will just be another victim

I am like a nickel of weed rolled in a doobie, I'm a little twisted

I roll like the end credits in movies, y'all just got scripted

Got y'all niggas' bitches bobbin' to this one when she witcha

When she wit' me, she bobbin', not vibin'

Tryna put her mind into the inside of my zipper

I'm a sperate with a purpose, havin' problems?

Not a problem I've encountered

I have found elephants, lions, clowns

Will jump through hoops like they workin' for the circus

At the fire round the circle's right in front of them, fire rounds

Pun intended, gun extended, what are you mark's askin'?

Car's Aston, started as a hard-top and I saw past it

Since I decided to start Class diss

All black, all glass, panoramic roof been gettin' marked absent

I authorize my own all-access

Your bitch a whore, I'm a catch, she ball-catchin'

Her jaw's been broadcasted all across the globe from the store to Japan

Her pussy need to blocked and reported as spam

Bong! Interscope up in this dope and I sell it

My voicemail is full, got bitches screamin' inside of envelopes

And they tryna mail 'em to me, tryna reach my phone

I don't know which one is harder

Tryna not to take your bitch or tryna get rid of my own

I got Gucci's on my feet

Diamonds on my neck

Diamonds on my wrist

Bitches on my dick

But y'all already said that

Choppers in the trunk

Models in the front

Bottles in the club

But I don't give a fuck

But y'all already said that

Cause sometimes I feel like it's so hard

For me to come up with shitty to say (Ayyyyyy)

I'm at a loss for words 'cause y'all already said it all

I think I'm runnin' out of cliches

I'm gettin' writer's block

Psyche!

Man, get the bozac

We need to start bringin' that shit back (Mad flava)

Man, fuck it, I'm 'bout to catch some wreck (We in effect, money!)

Mad props to Royce for keepin' it real

On the strength, no diggity

I'm 'bout to go pull some hoes, get my mack on

Haters get the gasface!