J.R. Writer, 40 Cal - Pay Homage lyrics

You see, my money like a baker's shop
That's why I make the powder blow
First I get "papi" bread
Then I make sour dough
You still pump-a-nickel
Move every hour: slow
My work so powerful your money ours, bro
Ain't no bagel jokes
But for butter I be raisin' toast
Like a bread truck I keep the latest loafs
I serve beef, grab pounds and squeeze
Get sick with the 40
Call it "Mad Cal Disease"
My niggas get down for cheese and felony raps
Ya'll niggas hamsters: really can't
Tell if they rats
But, you call em turtles when
The shell in they back
I play 8Ball from Menace
I can help you with that
Then I'm back to melt the track
Soon as the vanilla crack
2 door NSX: that's a selfish Ac'
Mack to your pelvis, black
I put you where Elvis sat
Walk in pawn shops when I take
Your chain and sell it back

(It's the Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset)
You guys are not a threat
Pay homage to the best
(Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset)
We got the streets owned, you cannot compete
Holmes (It's the Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset)
Any problems it's a wrap
We put Harlem on the map
(Dip-dip-d-d-d-dip-Dipset)
You now rockin' with the best
Pay homage to the Set

Listen: I'm 'bout flipping
But if the slouch tripping
I put some scratch on his
Head like his scalp's itching
Dig it: JR is hot whippin': the car is drop
Barbies watch the dealer admit it:
I'm hard to top
Hater, I'm back face it: you're whack
JR is crack
The same thing they place in a pack
I stay in the trap so, no
You won't hear "808" when I put
Some damn bass on a track
I bring the fiends out
Give them niggas what they need
I don't see droughts
It is figures what I see
Bring them ki's out to the middle of the P's
No matter the temperature degree
Rain, sleet, snow, I'm pitching em for sheez
Peel bricks
You'll have to go to Switzerland for these
I get them off the greez
It's easy to the beast
You should bow down the next time
You see me in the streets!