J.R. Writer – Bird Call lyrics

[Hook: J. R. Writer]
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers
Whats the word y'all, flip that herb, raw
Clap, that's the byrd call
If the cops are coming, get to hop and running
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stopping, young'un
Put away that herb, raw, let us know the word or
Clap, that's the byrd call

[Verse 1: J. R. Writer]
I still be where the weed flip, in the P's with the trees lit
So much water in the order, it's just leaving them seasick
With a ski in my V6, trying to skeet on a b lips
Down low, like I'm trying to keep her a secret
Act wrong, chrome, passing me dome
Next minute -- shit, I'm finished; she'll be flagging it home
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 them grams flipping, tan pitching
Corner to the damn kitchen
Gained a couple fans, had to make a transition
But I'm still in the hood like a transmission
No cat can match me, I'm passing fastly -- who's half as nasty?
I got it locked from here all the way to Cak-a-lacky
But keep a Mac for Scrappy, thinking its just laffy taffy
Shit, this beat'll be the only thing clapping at me

[Hook: J. R. Writer]
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers
Whats the word y'all, flip that herb, raw
Clap, that's the byrd call
If the cops are coming, get to hop and running
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stopping, young'un
Put away that herb, raw, let us know the word or
Clap, that's the byrd call

[Verse 2: Lil' Wayne]
Birdman J. R. And J. R., pigeons know who they are
Niggas gotta pay off, snitches know to say y'all
If chickens on the radar, I’m at it
Cause I get it on my day off, ain't nothing like getting weight off
Scrape off the plates, shake off the flakes
Bag that and make all the cake
I gotta lay off, the way y'all hate me like I’m Adolf
But y'all can't see me: Ray Charles
I steal whores, I’ll probably take yours
Because you peel off and I take off
Give me no space; whatever I want I takes
Whatever I need I bleed and succeed
Bitch nigga, don’t breathe on the weed
I’m fucking with them birds without feeding them seeds
That’s creed, you don’t know about it
Full clip how I go about it, full body
Hard body, I’m like "God got 'im"

[Hook: J. R. Writer]
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers
Whats the word y'all, flip that herb, raw
Clap, that's the byrd call
If the cops are coming, get to hop and running
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stopping, young'un
Put away that herb, raw, let us know the word or
Clap, that's the byrd call

[Verse 3: Cam'ron]
"Damn, homie
In high school you was the man, homie"
That's what a fan told me, shit
Same old cat, get his Kangol clapped
Brains blown back; dissing Dame, Dame don't rap
Shame on black, the game's so whack
Dame sonned you children
From in front of your building right to a hundred million
G'head pimp it, pimping; g'head act up, doggy
Get your limp on, pimping; if they acting froggy
Tell 'em back up off me; I come down, clap the forty cal
That's a badder story, not in my category
Mess around, Dame held Def Jam down
Pardon my back, jacking and the left hand pounds
Redneck found, Tec Tec pound
Duck duck goose, pump pump shoot
Shoot, lets get down
It may seem petty, but we all turn mean deadly
For green-fetti, my whole team ready

[Hook: J. R. Writer]
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, strugglers
Block bubblers, pushers, cookers, pot jugglers
Whats the word y'all, flip that herb, raw
Clap, that's the byrd call
If the cops are coming, get to hop and running
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stopping, young'un
Put away that herb, raw, let us know the word or
Clap, that's the byrd call

[Verse 4: J. R. Writer]
This ain't only bars and tracks, this is for the hardest cats
Flipping all the hard in back, make them catch a heart attack
When you see the narcs attack, let me know
Start to clap, clap, clap
A star with a deal, Chopard be on chill
The car is Deville, it's real ill, heart in the grill
It's foreign, my nills
Cruise the city with the semi or the celly
On skinnies like I'm starving my wheels