Testo della canzone Take Notes (J.R. Writer feat. Lil' Wayne), tratta dall'album History in the Making

Take Notes - J.R. Writer feat. Lil' Wayne

Uhh see man (what)
What you muh'fuckers fail to realize is (what's that?)
I am that nigga (true)
And ain't shit you could do about that, ya underdig?
Uhh, yeah

(Verse 1)
I'm a hooligan hater, but I move like a player
Take a look up in my closet (look) every shoe'll be gator
Have your baby mother drillin, out the coupe when I slay her
You couldn't get the bitch to tip if you was a waiter
You aint marketable, why argue wit'chu
I'm in the Maybach tryin to find parkin for two
Who? The God of this breddren, the weapon
You ain't seein numbers, your career is on *67
Your track list is crackless, I use it as a ash kit
Like hold up, yeah, flick ya ashes on this whack shit
This ain't that piff, homie I will finish ya
Black suits, black cars, hoe I'm like the senator
Or kinda similar, plus ask the DJ's
I put out fire, like I'm holdin an extinguisher
New shit every week, new piff, very heat
I'll show you how to do this, your music is very sweet

I mastered this, you're average, nigga you should take notes
You bastards sick, I'm back with piff, but nigga you should take notes
I'll show you how to stack your chips, most of y'all are straight broke
I mastered this, what crack you spit, nigga you should take notes
You ain't gotta jack my shit, I'll show you how to bake coke
Turn it to a half a brick, make the game chain smoke
Find a town, stack ya chips, cause most of y'all are straight broke
I mastered this, you're average, nigga you should take notes

(Verse 2)
The law watch him, I'm car droppin, you hard toppin
These player haters can't stand to see J.R. poppin
But the star's boxin, how I get 'em off me
With left jabs, fag, call me Bernard Hopkins
The heat of the night, they heated I'm nice
Sleeped in my Nikes, with not a damn crease in my whites
While you sucker-for-lovers make a freak off ya wife
And throw cuffs on her like you 'bout to read her her rights, right
I'm hard as fuck, you target ducks, you ain't spittin hard enough
Listen here mami, tsunami couldn't wash me up
Child's a pro, my style is whoa, verse is wow, hurt 'em how
Homey I am versatile, you lookin at a talent show
So, get used to the, hot bars movin ya
Loosin ya I'm Lucifer, sittin on Jupiter
Listen this is proof, prick you are a fluke
I got this wrapped up, it's useless for you to get in the booth


Writer(s): Travis Barker, Writers Unknown
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© 2022 Riproduzione riservata. Rockol.com S.r.l.
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