Byrd Call J.R. Writer (Ft. Cam'ron)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Byrd Call" by J.R. Writer (Ft. Cam'ron). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
Yo, JR, they've been waitin' for you, dawg
They've been askin'
You ready? You up, motherfucker, DipSet, let's go
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', get to hop and runnin'
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stoppin' young'n
Put away that herb raw, let us know the word or
Clap, that's the byrd call
I still be where the weed flip, in the P's wit the trees lit
So much water in the order, it's just leavin' 'em seasick
Wit a ski in my V6, tryin' to skeet on a B lips
Down low, like I'm tryin' to keep her a secret
Acura on chrome, passin' me dome
Next minute, shit, I'm finished, she'll be flaggin' 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 the 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 your transmission
They've been askin'
You ready? You up, motherfucker, DipSet, let's go
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', get to hop and runnin'
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stoppin' young'n
Put away that herb raw, let us know the word or
Clap, that's the byrd call
I still be where the weed flip, in the P's wit the trees lit
So much water in the order, it's just leavin' 'em seasick
Wit a ski in my V6, tryin' to skeet on a B lips
Down low, like I'm tryin' to keep her a secret
Acura on chrome, passin' me dome
Next minute, shit, I'm finished, she'll be flaggin' 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 the 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 your transmission
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