Byrd Call Lyrics
| Song | Byrd Call |
| Artist | JR Writer |
| Album | History in the Making |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Brito, Giles, Zayas | |
| 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 | |
| No cat could match me, I'm passin' fastly, who's half as nasty | |
| I got it locked from here, all the way to Cakalakie | |
| But keep a mac for scrappies thinkin' it's just Laffy Taffy | |
| Shit, this beat'll be the only thing clappin' at me | |
| 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 | |
| Damn, homey, in high school, you was the man, homey | |
| That's what a fan told me, shit | |
| Same old cat, get his Kangol clapped | |
| Brains blown back, dissin' dame, dame don't rap | |
| Shame on black, the game's so whack | |
| Dame search for children from in front of ya buildin' | |
| Right to a hundred million | |
| Go ahead, pimpin', pimpin', go ahead, act up doggy | |
| Getcha limp on pimpin', if they actin' froggy | |
| Tell 'em, back up off me, I come down, clap the 40 | |
| Child, that's a badder story, I'm not in my category | |
| Mess around, dame held Def Jam down | |
| So pardon my back, jackin' any left hand pounds | |
| Redneck found, tech, tech 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 | |
| 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 | |
| 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 attack, let me know, start to clap | |
| Clap, clap | |
| A star with a deal, Chapar be on chill | |
| The car is DeVille, it's real ill, pardon the grill | |
| It's foreign my nills, cruise the city with the semi | |
| All silly on skinnies, like I'm starvin' my wheels, uh | |
| 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 |
| zuo qu : Brito, Giles, Zayas | |
| 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 | |
| No cat could match me, I' m passin' fastly, who' s half as nasty | |
| I got it locked from here, all the way to Cakalakie | |
| But keep a mac for scrappies thinkin' it' s just Laffy Taffy | |
| Shit, this beat' ll be the only thing clappin' at me | |
| 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 | |
| Damn, homey, in high school, you was the man, homey | |
| That' s what a fan told me, shit | |
| Same old cat, get his Kangol clapped | |
| Brains blown back, dissin' dame, dame don' t rap | |
| Shame on black, the game' s so whack | |
| Dame search for children from in front of ya buildin' | |
| Right to a hundred million | |
| Go ahead, pimpin', pimpin', go ahead, act up doggy | |
| Getcha limp on pimpin', if they actin' froggy | |
| Tell ' em, back up off me, I come down, clap the 40 | |
| Child, that' s a badder story, I' m not in my category | |
| Mess around, dame held Def Jam down | |
| So pardon my back, jackin' any left hand pounds | |
| Redneck found, tech, tech 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 | |
| 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 | |
| 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 attack, let me know, start to clap | |
| Clap, clap | |
| A star with a deal, Chapar be on chill | |
| The car is DeVille, it' s real ill, pardon the grill | |
| It' s foreign my nills, cruise the city with the semi | |
| All silly on skinnies, like I' m starvin' my wheels, uh | |
| 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 |
| zuò qǔ : Brito, Giles, Zayas | |
| 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 | |
| No cat could match me, I' m passin' fastly, who' s half as nasty | |
| I got it locked from here, all the way to Cakalakie | |
| But keep a mac for scrappies thinkin' it' s just Laffy Taffy | |
| Shit, this beat' ll be the only thing clappin' at me | |
| 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 | |
| Damn, homey, in high school, you was the man, homey | |
| That' s what a fan told me, shit | |
| Same old cat, get his Kangol clapped | |
| Brains blown back, dissin' dame, dame don' t rap | |
| Shame on black, the game' s so whack | |
| Dame search for children from in front of ya buildin' | |
| Right to a hundred million | |
| Go ahead, pimpin', pimpin', go ahead, act up doggy | |
| Getcha limp on pimpin', if they actin' froggy | |
| Tell ' em, back up off me, I come down, clap the 40 | |
| Child, that' s a badder story, I' m not in my category | |
| Mess around, dame held Def Jam down | |
| So pardon my back, jackin' any left hand pounds | |
| Redneck found, tech, tech 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 | |
| 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 | |
| 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 attack, let me know, start to clap | |
| Clap, clap | |
| A star with a deal, Chapar be on chill | |
| The car is DeVille, it' s real ill, pardon the grill | |
| It' s foreign my nills, cruise the city with the semi | |
| All silly on skinnies, like I' m starvin' my wheels, uh | |
| 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 |
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