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J.R. Writer
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Dark Paradise
I'm hitting the trap, cooking the work
Fixing them packs that be hooking the turf
And the hood on alert, pushing your worth
And the bitches on that look as good as the first
Look at your earth, look in the world
Just send her a drink 'cause she looking on thirsty
Put on a skirt then get put in a hearse
Put in the dirt and then pull in the shirt
I got it from here, high as the lean
I'm in the air, it's a private affair
Why would I care? How could you dare
When I pop this sit open get the rioting gear
Writer is here, mami is all wet
And all they keep saying is papi, come here
Once I get a pair I disappear
The top of the game for the top of the year, yeah
Musical drugs, scoop you a dub
Scenes from above, get the user a buzz
I do what I does, scoop it, I'm loved
Bump into me and you blowing a hug
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I got the belt, y'all on the shelf
Sick in the brain, I think I need some help
You know how I play, I get the dough
Might smoke to the face but don't lie to yourself
I been in the league, been in the lead
Roll up on niggas like Christopher Reeve
You know how I get it, I get to the cheese
Snowing on niggas in 60 degrees
Please
You don't know that I'm hot but you're holding my cock like
I load every shot and get low from the cops like
It's the high life, let me go through your high lights
I be all night, everybody at the supermarket know you don't shop right
Your swagger is off, I laugh at your flow, back at the loft
You rappers are lost, have it your way'
I'm feverish hot, I beat up the block, we just be on the block
I know what it's worth, fuck what you heard
You run out of work, just put me in a pod
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