JR Writer - The Pit lyrics

[J.R. Writer] Holla No sorrow haters wrapped in a Tahoe For all those who saw J smash the Apollo yikes All covered in ice like I was standing in Times Square On "The Day After Tomorrow" holla I'm in to bigger dough, sicker flow Rocky dial what make it possible to Rocky-bow hit your ho I feel like Bigelow cause ever since I got the churp number All I been hearing was bleep like the Springer show I got Poppa Al money you got pocket-style money Doggie, these maurie's try a thou' dunny Girl's dropping wild funny Soon as I step in and want to grab on the gator like Crocodile Dundy See I'm the worst round, you'll hit the dirt ground I surf towns in Jaguars that's dirt brown I know it hurt clown, to see me laid in a suite Under sheets, stuffed with more feathers than a First Down Comfortable [Hell Rell] Yo I copped a couple K's for the beef when it goes down I told n***as that they couldn't eat in they own town f** off the strip, for I bust off a clip My time is money I got to get the f** off this brick Follow me around and we'll see the life of a hustler Follow you around and we'll see the life of a buster Beat down, smacked up, robbed every minute And my soldiers, they treat me like I'm God every minute Hot as a f**, but don't get acknowledged enough This is grade-A piff you got garbage to puff And when it come to my rocks get it polished and buffed Same thing with your girl I get polished and buffed A few bricks on the table, I'm smoking by the pound If I don't blow I'm on the next thing smoking out of town I'm sitting on grenades, I'm sitting on some blades Yay, flip it suede fitted sitting on my braids n***a I got gats to tuck and Cadillac the truck I deal with mathematics homeboy and you ain't adding up Two plus two don't equal five I eat the truth but feed you lies you b**h n***a And I ain't ask to come through, man I'm barging out From now on you address me as ? [40 Cal] I'm the kid from 140 baby 40 making all the cake My dope like tsunami, I k** 'em off a water weight You play 50 get your story straight n***as up in 50 minus 2, that's ya number due, the 48 Well do the math, the n***a's a problem You broke, ya dead broke when I k** 'em and rob 'em 40, n***as think they can call shots Y'all ain't got no winds you lost hair like a bald spot You want the 2Pac Shakur props? But it's like a disease now cause all y'all got is smallpox And that's off top at ya door with 4 knocks 40 catch vicks in they halls like coughdrops Porsche box, school you how to sell the coke-a Cause "Diplomat" without the "t" spells diploma Tryna, tell you dolja, the flame in ya a** The game in a smash, 40 keep his name in a stash You the type to go to jail, turn ya name to Shebazz I'm a menace, the O-Dog with the 'Caine on the ave 40