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j.r. writer - control yourself كلمات الأغنية

uhh
get in tune with a spitter
excuse me i’m sicker
what you divin’ in ain’t a pool full of liquor
you rap like you used to share a room with your sister
trap life, we lookin’ at two diff’rent pictures
you animal food
i’ll be d-mned if i lose
to the cat that lost to the charles hamilton dude
how could you claim you nice
you let him take your mic
middle of your rap, couldn’t even say it right
must be gettin’ high
thinkin’ you as sick as i
what tracks you k!llin’, you wouldn’t k!ll a vibe
you went in why? take a stroll thru writer’s block
use your gemini’s-
you don’t see i’m twice as hot
you sound weird when you jump on the verse
n-gga i’m outchea when it comes to the first
bundles of work (that crack)
ya’ll gon’ make me duct tape mr. duckworth into dump what he’s worth
get a pushed wig-
you don’t know what good is (why)
like your first album t-tle you’s a good kid
time to show this amature a lesson-
his whole schemes are full of bad cannabis impressions
a big l offspring, i off kings
tim dunc when he’s balling-
false ring
act silly-
get lapped ’till the track dizzy
twist straps that’ll smoke you, i call ’em the black hippies (blah blah)
debt it
this justice is poetic-
i’m dumpin’ the pump until they yell cut, n-gga, no credits
you know you haters frontin’-
how could he be claimin’ somethin’?
when all he do is switch his flow and don’t be sayin’ nothin’?
i sketch draw
time to let the lead pour
watch them n-ggas hauled when it get messy at the mess hall
dead raw
ya’ll gon’ hafta beg more-
you rappin-
i’m metaphor punchin’ n-ggas’ heads off
what you gon’ tell a don
i gotta check a p-wn?
just put a check up on his head, that n-gga dead and gone
how could you tell me ‘wrong’?
dominicans don’t wish that you was born there, they wish that you was never born
what’s his twitter?
send this body to this n-gga-
on control?
you named everybody but the spitters (like what?)
like i ain’t right here
in my nik’ airs-
white pair-
i’m the harlem n-gga in your nightmares
you really ain’t hot
i got this thang locked
buncha hard bars, i don’t need to name drop
banks stop-
everytime i aim shots-
i just had to school boy, he ain’t know how j rock

- j r writer

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