Sangtekst: JR Writer. Other. You're Done (Tru Dyke).

(feat. Cam'ron)

[Jr Writer:]
Writaaa!
Let's have a pep talk, never my check short
I hop in da lex sport and pop up on west port
Know my next tought? What you ever extort or export?
Ranged around them homos in escorts
I'm a vet dog, you'll never see me lyrically
I wet dogs so step off. You better do your history
I did my history. This kiddos done
Before i could thug a nigga he was Jim Jones son
What's the big ol' front? Like his swag aint confused
I remember he was doing bathrobes and shoes
This asshole is rude, my cashflow is huge
You suck, what the fuck?! All your rap shows get boo'd
It's Murda!! Them dogs'll pop up with them burners
You worker. Your boss is washed up like a surfer
The nerve of this herb to. I'll hurt ya
Your "Made you look" was a fake Neptune track with a Jamaican hook
You a waste of push. How could you offend R?
Ridin in a windstar, lying like you been hard?
You've never been scarred, or wise keep. So why beef?
I aint Mobb Deep. Them niggas 5 feet.
I'll put you guys each in ditches yo, hit wit fours, critical, Jigga know
That's why we dig the ho
You dig it ho, we squeeze rounds pop
You so fuckin' wack you make Bleek sound hot
So ease down ock. You wouldn't kill squat
You on da Roc cuz they had to fill a mill spot
You gettin deals stop, Why lie you bitch? You're not as rich
Only time you get scratched is when you got an itch
I'm talkin dollars, chips. Some you don't see in fronta
So call this bitch anonymous cuz you aint seeing numbas
Get the picture you dirty little nigra?
Hov got you on the back burner like a trigger
Who's sicker, or slicka? I'll rip ya with one line
One rhyme, dump mine, nigga this is crunch time
Come at the Don I'm dumpin them arms
Your whole tape trash and it took you months to respond
This pawn stylin on who? I while with a few
Who would wanna here a whole fuckin album of you?
It's true, and True, I will make you my lunch
You've been signed a while now and aint hit radio once
They aint playin that junk, If you gave it to Funk
Just to get spends you gon have to pay every month Chump
I aint forget your boss "Jigga, Jigga what?"
He's down at the office getting 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 sprayin on target
All True Lyfe fans are just waitin on garbage
This aint Jr's hardest, You aint even Roc
You roc lots with the damn reggaton artists
Ur mouth's getting runned, I'm bout getting ones, your son
You aint coming out like ur gun
YOU'RE DONE!