Live From the Kitchen

[JR Writer] {*coughing*} Writers Block, bitch Uhh, okay~! Live from the kitchen, I'm back scrappin, fryin and wheelin High as a pigeon, I am consistant Pow to a chicken, I backpack iron for trippin Grindin and pitchin, these rap cats lyin and snitchin From the, trip and the road where they sit in the cold Used to backstab you for the rock, quick get it home Shrimp you supposed, slip on ya Joes, skip from the pose And put you on your ass, make you slip on your toes Ho, this nigga is throwed, the sickest who else'll Put your brains on your shirt so you can think to yourself, huh? I shit on these elves, stuntin with cheddar Make it rain on his dame, put her under the weather It's a hundred or better, let it dump on whoever Any beef you know the street sweep under the lever Have fun, I'm next up, crushin in a red truck Shot swing and pop, all your weapontry collect dust Bitch I'm glistery, nothin like ya breakfast Blow my wristery the color of some egg guts (canary) More or less mark the heaval and the sickening Just listen, these niggas couldn't see me with prescriptions I'm somethin that you wanna be and nothin like a wannabe Pardon me, odds are G I plug one in your artery You'll need more triggers, I heat all spitters And like to welcome y'all to W, B-4 nigga Huhh, oh yeah nigga, I'm back in the muh'fuckin building You know what that muh'fuckin means, CHA-CHING! More commas in my muh'fuckin bank account you get it? Checks, them c-hecks, spell it out man You already know what it is man I'm goin in So get your muh'fuckin weight up man, YEAH THAT CRACK~!