J.R. Writer - Live From the Kitchen lyrics
[J.R. Writer - Live From the Kitchen lyrics]
Writers Block, bitch uhh, okay'!
Live from the kitchen, I'm back scrappin
Fryin and wheelin
High as a pigeon, I am consistant
Pow to a chicken, I backpack iron for trippin
Grindin and pitchin
These rap cats lyin and snitchin from the
Trip and the road where they sit in the cold
Used to backstab you for the rock
Quick get it home
Shrimp you supposed, slip on ya Joes
Skip from the pose and put you on your ass
Make you slip on your toes
Ho, this nigga is throwed
The sickest who else'll
Put your brains on your shirt so
You can think to yourself, huh?
I shit on these elves, stuntin with cheddar
Make it rain on his dame
Put her under the weather
It's a hundred or better
Let it dump on whoever
Any beef you know the street
Sweep under the lever
Have fun, I'm next up, crushin in a red truck
Shot swing and pop
All your weapontry collect dust
Bitch I'm glistery, nothin like ya breakfast
Blow my wristery the color of some egg guts
(canary) more or less mark the
Heaval and the sickening just listen
These niggas couldn't see
Me with prescriptions
I'm somethin that you wanna be
And nothin like a wannabe pardon me
Odds are G I plug one in your artery
You'll need more triggers
I heat all spitters
And like to welcome y'all to W, B-4 nigga
Huhh, oh yeah, nigga
I'm back in the muh'fuckin building
You know what that muh'fuckin means
CHA-CHING! More commas in my muh'fuckin bank
Account you get it?
Checks, them c hecks, spell it out man
You already know what it is man I'm goin in
So get your muh'fuckin weight up man, YEAH
THAT CRACK'!
Live from the kitchen, I'm back scrappin
Fryin and wheelin
High as a pigeon, I am consistant
Pow to a chicken, I backpack iron for trippin
Grindin and pitchin
These rap cats lyin and snitchin from the
Trip and the road where they sit in the cold
Used to backstab you for the rock
Quick get it home
Shrimp you supposed, slip on ya Joes
Skip from the pose and put you on your ass
Make you slip on your toes
Ho, this nigga is throwed
The sickest who else'll
Put your brains on your shirt so
You can think to yourself, huh?
I shit on these elves, stuntin with cheddar
Make it rain on his dame
Put her under the weather
It's a hundred or better
Let it dump on whoever
Any beef you know the street
Sweep under the lever
Have fun, I'm next up, crushin in a red truck
Shot swing and pop
All your weapontry collect dust
Bitch I'm glistery, nothin like ya breakfast
Blow my wristery the color of some egg guts
(canary) more or less mark the
Heaval and the sickening just listen
These niggas couldn't see
Me with prescriptions
I'm somethin that you wanna be
And nothin like a wannabe pardon me
Odds are G I plug one in your artery
You'll need more triggers
I heat all spitters
And like to welcome y'all to W, B-4 nigga
Huhh, oh yeah, nigga
I'm back in the muh'fuckin building
You know what that muh'fuckin means
CHA-CHING! More commas in my muh'fuckin bank
Account you get it?
Checks, them c hecks, spell it out man
You already know what it is man I'm goin in
So get your muh'fuckin weight up man, YEAH
THAT CRACK'!