J.R. Writer - Byrd Call Lyrics

(feat. Cam'Ron and Lil Wayne)

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Cam'ron:
Yo J.R., they’ve been waitin’ for you dog
They’ve been askin’, you ready
You up muthafucka
Dipset, let’s go, Writer

Hook
J.R. Writer:
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 Byrd Call
If the cops are comin’ (what) get to hop and runnin’ (run)
Quick and drop that onion (drop it) ain’t no stoppin’ young’n
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 its just leavin’ ‘em seasick
Wit’ a ski in my V6, tryna skeet on a B lips (Skeet)
Down low, like I’m tryna keep her a secret
Acura on chrome. passin' me dome
Next minute, shit I’m finish, she'll be flaggin' it home
But I always keep a straggler that’s known
To bone and run to a lap, faster than Marion Jones
Man listen, I still got dem 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 a transmission
No cat could match me, I’m passing fastly, who’s half as nasty
I got it locked from here all the way to Cackalacky
But keep a Mac for Scrappy thinkin’ its just laffy taffy
Shit, this beat’ll be the only thing clappin’ at me

Hook

Verse 2
Lil’ Wayne:
Birdman J-R and J.R.
Pigeons know who they are, niggaz gotta pay off
Snitches known to say all if chickens on the radar
I’m at it cuz I get it on my day off
Ain’t nuthin’ like gettin’ weight off
Yeah, scrape off the plates, shake off the flakes
Bag that and make all the cake
Yeah, 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 takeoff
Gimme no space, whatever I want, I take
Whatever I need I bleed and succeed
Bitch nigga don’t breathe on the weed, I’m fuckin’ with the birds
Without feedin’ ‘em seeds, that’s green, you don’t know about it
Full clip, how go about it, for a body, hardbody
I’m like “God got him”, yeah

Hook

Verse 3
Cam’ron:
Damn homie (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, dissin' Dame and Dame don't rap
Shame on Black, the game’s so wack
Dame sonned your children
From in front of your woods right to a 100 million
Dead pimpin’, pimpin’
Dead actor, doggy
Get your limp off pimpin’, if they acting froggy
Tell ‘em “Back up off me”
I come down, clap the .40 Cal
That’s a badder story, I’m not in my category
Mess around, Dame held Def Jam down
So pardon my back, jackin’ in 'em lefthand pounds
Redneck found, Tec Tec 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

J.R. Writer:
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 attacks
Let me know, start to clap
Clap, clap, I’m outta here
A star wit’ a deal, ya pa be on chill
The car is Deville
It’s real ill, pardon the grill
It’s foreign my nillz (foreign)
Cruise the city with the semi on the celly on skinnies like I’m starvin’ my wheels
Uh

Hook

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lyrics submitted by AbeLinc15 on 28-07-2006
lyrics corrected by AbeLinc15 on 26-07-2009