J.R. Writer - Key To Life lyrics

It get no great as me even the haters see
I must be eleven hundred if I ain't a G
Before the deal, cuban links or the AMG
Trying to steal Cuban Linx out of HMV
I'm a vet, where's the level of respect?
I do this shit for rec
It was never about a check
Check, I'm that nicer
How could you ever bash Writer?
I wrote rhymes for the jects
To have a rap cypher
Facts, biter you don't have to ask questions
My first battle was against
A battle rap legend
You rappers have sessions just
To put out dirt
I ain't just put in work, I put out work
Ask Cam though, everything I put out worked
Grown man flow
Get anyone you pushed out worked
Knight with the armor, light with the scharma


Which one of y'all don't
Think Writer's a monster? I will bomb ya
Everything I write you should honor
I had cyphers with Jim when
He was driving a Honda
Facts, I'm spitting crack
Come buy you a pack
I been bodying cats before they
Popped up with Smack grew up with Rex
Lux a couple guys that could rap
And killed tracks with Juelz when
He was driving a Ac
That's real rap, you ain't tuned into a lame
I'm on Pluto with it mayne
We ain't musically the same! (at all)
How could you explain moving in the game
To a nigga who helped build the
Biggest movement in the game?
Calling it quit's
He don't get rawer than this
Put the corpse in the ditch
Just hit record and it's lit
Anytime I'm in the place
Divas all on my dick
Bunch of diamonds in the face
Jesus tour on my wrist
Underrated, but your mother favorite
Let the beat breathe
I don't wanna suffocate it

Where's the ambulance? You don't
Stand a chance
Grams got 'em back and forth, hammer dance
Them old days, hand to hand on Amsterdam
I had a coke wave when
French was just a camerman
That ain't a diss, don't be asking me if
I got beef with anybody
These are facts that I spit
I'm passionate bitch
There's passion in these tracks that I rip
You will never be a match because I'm lit
Trick straight up sick, but they love Rif
Hud 6 told me "Get 'Em" was a straight up hit
(RIP) them real bars of crack you
Don't wake up with
I did real songs with Stacks
No made up shit's shit, how I'm not great
I'm tired of y'all fakes
Come out of y'all face
Don't fly to my estate you know me fam
I ain't got the lot of y'all fakes
I toured Japan off of a
Couple Writer's Block tapes
Wait, ain't no touching Writer
Y'all a bunch of biters
I ain't passing the blunt
I'll fuck up the cypher
I'm a pro - you ain't know, now you know
The damn nail salon don't even
Wanna go toe to toe
But yo, I ain't ya average spitter
I mastered this ask your bitch
She been at a nigga way
Before I had a Twitter
What had happened nigga, we taking this over
I leave him in the clouds if
He claim he a smoker
Roller, you could smell the hazy aroma
Smoke enough of this
You'll spend the day in a coma
Different kind of bling
I hang with the owners
Rocks sticking out the ring
Like Adrien Broner
News break, how you niggas gonna scoop cake?
What you know about getting a
Quarter mill for two tapes?
I overgrind dummy, being broke is not funny
I put in work
Like I need that overtime money
Money, I'm a beast understand that seeing me
You better off jumping off the roof
And landing on your feet, capiche?
All these other rappers are basic
It's Asics
Made me take a nap when they played it
Face it
These cats ain't got the talent to take it
You wasted
With some wack cats on your playlist
I download they tracks to erase it
I think it's about time I
Them back to the greatness