J.R. Writer - Get 'Em lyrics
[J.R. Writer - Get 'Em lyrics]
Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
We get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get
'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
We get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get
'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
We get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get
'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em, get 'em
We hit the club, gripping on the ol' heat
Purple in the air
Middle finger to the police (fuck 'em)
Then get a dub
I'm skidding up the whole street
Tires lookin' like ya nigga's sitting
On some slow lease (twenty-sixes)
So sleek, skipping wit' ya old freak
Who swear to god I'm the flyest
Nigga on the whole east (east)
Get the drift
(drift) , the party'll be pissed
When I buy the bar and only
Leave water on the list prick, I'm the shit
(shit) and known in the city (uh huh)
Prefer Cris' even though the Moe get me dizzy
So, it's a rizzy, I'm 'bout it
Standing on the couches like I ain't
Got no home training in me
Huh, you can't stop it, I'm harder to crack
So the DJ bring it back
Like he borrowed the track
I ain't never had a problem with that
I'm a problem in fact
A nigga really know a squad that can rap
Tell 'em go
We get it poppin'
(poppin') you know where I'm from (harlem)
Everywhere I go them damn groupies wanna come
(come) cuz if them lil' chickens ain't
Drooling on my 1s
It's the G's on the lace with
The Gucci on the tongue
Hun, I'm gettin' bread
Don't confuse it wit' a crumb (cha ching)
But, if I gots to reach up
In this Louis then ya done (blap)
Them Rugers'll get swung
(swung) you'll drop in a ditch (blap)
The cops'll have to tape up
The block like it's ripped
I'm so smooth but move the drop 'til it skid
Pockets fulla cheese like a mozzarella stick
Rocks on the wrist, yes I drop hella chips
Prepetual, I don't want it if
The watch got a tick
Shit, how could I miss if
I'm hot like a strip
With the cops on a bitch
Tryna knock you for bricks
Trick, watch ya lips or get
Dropped from a cliff
Cuz I can get you off for a box fulla kicks
Like
We keep the bar pissed
Buying out the hard liq'
That make ya broad sit right under the armpit
She say the god sick
Brighten on the arm wrist
Ainlt harm shit but I iced her like a mob hit
A hard brick, biter every bar of piff
You heartless
You's a writer wit' a start kit
I'm hard prick, stressin' 'em out
It's a mutha fukini drought 'til
I step out the house
I was never a slouch, listen B, dog known
As the Royce to call it like a B ball zone
Watch me breeze on chrome
With the heat all shown
In my Dior own, this ain't D Hore homes
Holmes devoted to floss, showin' it off
A boss
Fresh to death like some clothes on a corpse
They stalk, the O that you brought
Yo what this cost
I tell 'em doze you'll get lost
With the dough that you tossed
You couldn't go