Writer's block, part four
Heck, I'm back in the building
Try tell these stupid nig gas,
These flaggerin' thugs got
Shit, it may be the bars that cater to grudge
But I cater to drugs that take them above
You couldn't shit on a set
if this was slave all love
Love your man's a menace,
Tell it, jam or finish for this
I done ran through ditches
it had some candles in it
Midget, I race past your fake ass
Bumping my music, but I ain't rate cash
Straight laugh at these haters who aim
your whole style is radio fringe
Look, when it's prime time,
Sean's blind, wrist brighter than Einstein
You peddlers dumb -whack,
the chef make it come back
I was stretchin' like I'm
gettin' ready to run track
you peep my swaggin 'ness
These niggas swaggerless,
I'll show you how to swag this shit
Come through stuntin', lightin' a fat L
Ask that Martin have him lookin'
he'll be bitin' a cat shell
A happy way these other niggas
I get it crackin' scrappy
you hear somebody clappin' at me
Give it up for the Critically Acclaimed
A .R. Fuckin' Ryder, whoo!
What the fuck I'm talking about, man?
That boy speak the truth, man.
All these niggas ain't spittin'
it like you out here, man.
These niggas too simple for you, Ryder.
since Writers Block Part 1, nigga.
And we still here, nigga.
is what I call greatness, y 'all.
Matter of fact, why y stop clapping?
Stand up, salute this man.
Samocha Excellence right here.
Let's go the fuck in, nigga.