J.R. Writer "You're Done (Tru Dyke) (feat. Cam'Ron)" |
Cam'ron: Aw man, Flex called me about 10 minutes to 7 Told me he gon' put a lil' beef thing together That's nuthin' man, we'll do this in 10 minutes I got man A.R. with me Y'all know him as J.R. but I call him A.R. Cuz the boy'll air ya out in 4 seconds B Ay yo Writer, let's go Funk Flex, Writer's Block, let's go J.R. Writer: Let's have a pep talk, never my check short I hop in the Lex sport and pop up on West 4th Know my next thought, what you ever extort or ex bought Raised around them homos and escorts I'm a bet dork, you never seen me lyrically I wet dog and step off, you better do your history I did my history, this kickos done Before Cock-A-Fella nigga, he was Jim Jones' son What's the big ol' front, like ya swag ain't confused I remember he was doin' bathrobes for shoes This fag HOV is rude, my cash flow is huge You suck, what the fuck, all your rap shows get booed It's murder, them dogs'll pop up with them burners You worker, your boss is washed up like a surfer The nerve of the server, I'll hurt ya Ya Made You Look was a fake Neptune track wit' a Jamaican hook You's a waste of push, how can you offend R Ridin' in the wind star, lying like you been hard You never been scarred or rised teeth so why beef I ain't Mobb Deep, them niggaz 5 feet I put you guys deep in ditches, hit with 4 Critical, Jigga know, that's why we dig the hole Dig it, ho, we squeeze rounds, pop (pop) You so fuckin' wack you make Bleek sound hot So ease down ock, you wouldn't kill squat You're on the Roc cuz they had to fill a mil spot You getting bills, stop Why lie you prick, you's not as rich Only time you get scratch is when you got an itch I'm talkin' dollars, chips, some'n you don't see you fronter So call us crack anonymous cuz he ain't seeing numbers Get the picture, you dirty little nigga HOV got you on the back burner like a trigger Who's sicker or slicker, I'll rip ya with one line One rhyme, dump mines Make them bitches crunch-time Come at the Don I'm dumpin' them arms Ya whole tape trash and it took you months to respond This pawn stylin' on who, I wild wit' a few Who would wanna here a whole fuckin' album of you It's true, and true, I will make you my lunch You been signed a while now, ain't hit radio once They ain't playing that junk, if you gave it to Funk Just to get spins you gon' have to pay every month, chump I ain't forget you boss, Jigga Jigga what He down at the office gettin' fingers up his butt One of his workers told me how he really gives it up How he really is a smut and he feminine as fuck Yup, mention us then I'm spraying on targets All Tru-Life fans is just waitin' on garbage This ain't J.R. hardest, you ain't even Roc You Roc La with the damn Reggaeton artists Your mouth is gettin' runned, I'm 'bout getting 1s Your my son, you ain't comin' out like your gun You're done Cam'ron: Leave him alone A.R. I ain't even know who they was talkin' about I just looked the fool up on the Internet He look just like Jim Jones, I'ma call him L.J., Little Jim And another thing, turn the beat off I seen the most amazing thing Jay-Z in Africa, a camel on a camel I wanted to call the Guiness Book of World Records I never seen a camel on a camel BET, Jay-Z in Africa, a camel on a camel Watch it (Laughs in background) Lyric from www.lyricmania.com |