JR Writer Ft. Lil' Wayne & Cam'Ron Lyrics

[Cam'Ron] Yo JR, they've been waitin for you dawg, they've been askin You ready? You up motherfucker, DipSet let's go Writer! [Hook] To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers What's the word y'all, flip that herb raw Clap... that's the bird call If the cops are comin, get to hop and runnin Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stoppin young'n Put away that herb raw, let us know the word or Clap... that's the bird call [Verse 1] I still be where the weed flip, in the P's wit the trees lit So much water in the order it's just leavin 'em seasick Wit a ski in my V6, tryin to skeet on a B lips Down low, like I'm tryin to keep her a secret Acura on chrome, passin me dome Next minute, shit I'm finished, she'll be flaggin it home (cab) But I always keep a straggler that's known to bone and run through a lap, faster than Marion Jones Man listen, I still got the grams flippin Tan pitchin, corner to the damn kitchen Gained a couple fans, had to make a transition But I'm still in the hood like your transmission No cat could match me, I'm passin fastly, who's half as nasty I got it locked from here all the way to Cakalakie But keep a mac for scrappies thinkin it's just Laffy Taffy Shit this beat'll be the only thing clappin at me [Hook] [Verse 2 - Cam'Ron] Damn homey... in high School you was the man homey That's what a fan told me, shit Same old cat, get his Kangol clapped Brains blown back; dissin Dame, Dame don't rap Shame on black, the game's so whack; Dame search for children from in front of ya buildin right to a hundred million Go ahead pimpin, pimpin, go ahead act up doggy Getcha limp on pimpin, if they actin froggy (what) Tell 'em back up off me, I come down clap the 40 Child that's a badder story, I'm not in my category (not at all) Mess around, Dame held Def Jam down So pardon my back, jackin any left hand pounds Redneck found, tech tech pound, duck duck goose Pump pump shoot, shoot, let's get down, down It may seem petty, but we all turn mean deadly For green fetti, my whole team ready [Hook] [Verse 3] This ain't only bars and tracks, this is for the hardest cats Flippin all the hard and back, make 'em catch a heart attack When you see the narcs attack, let me know, start to clap Clap... clap... (I'm outta here) A star with a deal, Chapar be on chill The car is Deville, it's real ill, pardon the grill It's foreign my nills (foreign) cruise the city with the semi All silly on skinnies like I'm starvin my wheels, uhh [Hook]