J.R. Writer - Winner’s Section lyrics
rate meI'm getting paid, your chick amazed
She twist the haze, we in a daze
Getting blazed, you in the way
Please hon, I don't really see sun in these Fendi shades
Cake chase, baby, I need all them figures
Ten to eight, eight, I be Audi on them niggas
I get the mula, what is recession?
Them niggas losers, this the winner's section
I just came up at the gambling spot
Money hanging out my ankle socks
Your bitch was saying that my hand was hot
I get any more cake, the rubber band will pop
I cop those, every brand they got
Drop rolls, I ain't talking Phantom drop
That's light, watch me get it back twice
Probably get it that night
Y'all ain't into that life
Okay, I'm all in, low riders, all rim, no tires
Balling, I should have played for Harlem, globe trotters
Jeremy Lin, barely touched the rock
But I jump right off the bench and take a bunch of shots
You buzzing hot, baby, come and cool me off
You don't need Tony Danza to tell you who the boss
All I do is floss ‘cause I'm seeing bucks
How you dudes floss? You don't even brush
You speak too much, close your mouth
You need a job, go hit an open house
Minimal wage, I'll get you a raise
You make that in a year, this what the kid got to say
I'm getting paid, your chick amazed
She twist the haze, we in a daze
Getting blazed, you in the way
Please hon, I don't really see sun in these Fendi shades
Cake chase, baby, I need all them figures
Ten to eight, eight, I be Audi on them niggas
I get the mula, what is recession?
Them niggas losers, this the winner's section
Grinding got me back on my other shit
Hand full of racks from another flip
Whip all black on my gutter shit
Have your chick calling me her daddy from that mother ship
I'm riding with that thunder clique, we don't play 'round
KD with that trey pound, they hate me so they frown
Glock like my hot line, you talk shit, say now
Get that guap up when I pop up or get boxed up, PayPal
In the Porsche with the white seats
Bitch with me out of Georgia, got a nice peach
Bag cost the 3K, that's a white sheet
Ciroc G, stay with CoCo like I'm Ice T
Spike Lee, Mike's got 'em in a daze
Getting shade, copped a band for these cigarres
You challengers is amateurs, begin a phase
Fighting like you just got off a Jerry Springer stage
VVH swag, I say get appraised
On my job like a slave, watch me get a raise
Why you selfish matching with the J's?
Asking me how much I paid
I'mm tell you silly motherfuckers that
I'm getting paid, your chick amazed
She twist the haze, we in a daze
Getting blazed, you in the way
Please hon, I don't really see sun in these Fendi shades
Cake chase, baby, I need all them figures
Ten to eight, eight, I be Audi on them niggas
I get the mula, what is recession?
Them niggas losers, this the winner's section
