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the greatest - j.r. writer lyrics

[intro: muhammad ali]
stone, hospitalized a brick
i’m so mean, i make medicine sick
fast, fast, fast, last night i cut the light off my bedroom, hit the switch and was in the bed before the room was dark. fast, fast and you george forman, all you chumps are gonna bow when i whoop him. all of you, i know you got it. i know you got him picked, but the man’s in trouble i’ma show you how grown i am

[verse 1: j.r writer]
yo, zeus
all of this talkin’ is cheap (cheap), it don’t get rawer than me (nope)
i’m shakin’ ’em up like i’m wakin’ ’em up and a n-gga keep fallin’ asleep (sleep)
i come and murder the bars, who wanna spar with a beast? (who?)
sh-t i’ve been workin’ too hard, so i’m gettin’ off on the weak (weak)
you n-ggas wack, all of you lack the sh-t i talk to the streets (facts)
all on a track, exportin’ the crack and they just imported the beat
gettin’ busy when i’m in your city you watchin’ a harlem n-gga eat (eat)
these milli vinillis can’t kick it with me, lavar ballin’ with the sneaks (who else)
bob barker of the east (east), you’ll get the play if the price right
godfather on repeat, you in the way then its night-night
you as bright as nightlight, bring your wife then i might pipe
skip dinner if her friend with her, she the third wheel like a tric-bike

[chorus: j.r writer]
heard i was slippin’ who said that? (who said that sh-t?)
when all you been gettin’ is head taps, head taps (stick ’em up)
’cause all of these n-ggas are dead wack, dead wack (k!llin’ ’em)
and they must be bringin’ the dead back (dead back)
pray for ’em, pray
pray for ’em (bow our heads, pray for these n-ggas), pray

[verse 2: fred money]
it’s money, yeah
time to dismantle the beat, light up a candle and preach
talkin’ a flip but you a flop, you should get sandals for free
put on a show when i’m up in the room rockin’ a sampler piece
i’m up to bat on the block with the goons, y’all couldn’t handle the streets
it’s a pity when i’m in the city in a fisker, know the price like it’s fisher
roll the dice, i’ma risk her, d-mn right i’m a mister
have some respect for ya jaw (jaw)
that’s money and violence, you think money ain’t violent?
hope you expectin’ it all (all)
have you speakin’ through the wire, rims eatin’ through the tires
in the hill on the bills, like you see me in the flyer
diamonds singin’ on my neck, got it tweakin’ like mariah
flood the cross with baguettes (what), call it preachin’ to the choir
yeah, i got the sh-t in a head wrap
punch ’em but this was a hand slap
‘cuz all of these n-ggas is dead wack
k!lla, they must be bringin’ the dead back
pray for ’em

- j r writer lyrics

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