J.R. Writer - Man Down lyrics

rate me

Man down, get your gun, nigga

Fuck where you from, you’s a bum nigga

Where you getting money at, huh, my nigga?

You ain’t wanna jet, put your guns, my nigga

Brace yourself, I’ll take you down a trip down memory lane

I was selling cane, in and out of jail since 17

Back when I was 12 I was probably selling everything

Had them high as hell, packs of crack that smacked their mary jane

It was me and TOD, word to GOD, we OD, keys on keys on keys

Man, I need my cheese, COD

Posted up on adult strip, loading up that black four fifth

Rolling up a fat ol’ splif and I’m smoking till it black my lips

Bitch, you are a joke, don’t make me spark the toast

I zoom in, that’s a scary sight, that’s your horoscope

How you balling, though? Fuck a cardinal

I should leave your car and all, you need another car, you broke

I had to laugh, your rapping act is rapping fast

You’s a big of trash but some of those chicks, your bag is trash

I smash and dash while you get to have a lash

Bitch you with, that’s an act, in other words I have the pass

Who the fuck is lyrical, I chew you up and finish you

Get rid of you, have you looking suited for an interview

It’s pitiful, that girl you call boo is unkissable

I doubt the bitch recorded it, threw on…

You rappers suck, who the fuck you listen to?

I air you out, they pack you up, stupid, that’s an attitude

Silly dudes, ridicule, I been in cloud forever

You think somebody better than y’all getting high together

I’m skipping by, different rides, switching by the weather

I kill their grind, they should come and bring them on a stretcher

Back with the kind of shit they say the game was missing

They don’t think I’m sick well tell them haters listen

I school him on the spot, he gotta pay tuition

That dude Michael Fox had the same condition

Man down, get your gun, nigga

Fuck where you from, you’s a bum nigga

Where you getting money at, huh, my nigga?

You ain’t wanna jet, put your guns, my nigga