Luyện nghe bài hát Who Writes Your

(C. Kirschner)
Produced by Concetta Kirschner for Concetta Music (BMI). Additional Production by Curtis for The Vertical Corporation (BMI). Guitar by Pete Kohl. Bass by Walter Sipser

I'm the flyest MC the finest MC the MC oh that's boring see
There's another MPC so why you think most hip-hop the same except for me?
Cryptic kick from the crypt sadistic lick hits with wit I'm quick
Rip crickets in a I'm plain wicked thick in the rig wearing kid lipstick
I wreck on the next shit spit it in ya ear bit like a Qtip
Big silly bitch wickedy witch lickety in a sitch no dick but talk big carry a big stick
So I'm a girl, yeah I'm white and I write all night with a bare light
On the computer alright a alright
I produced this song- so you who you are you know you were wrong
No I was not in that porn On Golden Blonde got it goin on more Bond than Sean John
Conned James Cahn for a ticket to Cannes and I Love Ferris Bueller like
don't ask me who writes my lyrics
I'll spit up in your face much faster you could hear it
Don't ask me who my lyrics
Damn ya you're enamored I'm a slam ya hotter your can down in Alabama
Where's my camera I need a moment of the moment I made you feel like Hammer
Son of Sam? I'm the daughter of Sam, slaughter a man on the
Pardon me ma'am was that part of a man or your son I just whipped on the mic and home
Big shit New York- Stockholm
and a Wop Wipin a cock walkin the block drop ya jaw to jock to your sock
I get that a lot yeah take stock shhh let me show you what I got
Made up my mind- like made it up I imagined it-I don't got a mind I it in a cabinet
So I could be a candidate for writin a few hits walkin a few pits and cashin in on that
I put out my first in '94 if you got one, I'll buy it
I don't got one no more it was Mitch Better get my Bunny
That shit was shitty but funny I admit it was but I did it with no money
In 9-5 my CD called Strictly Platinum but it didn't go Platinum it went back to them
And instead of waitin for to put me on
I a label ran it 'til the money was gone, then came along, then was gone,
Money money money, don't try to make it with your
But like Salt 'n Pepa in El Segundo we it a long (Push it!)
And then Fat wouldn't take my last LP
So I got egg beaters em back at the backpacks on 6th Ave. passin me
At the Buffet planted a bomb next to Grays
And when the records rained I sold 'em back for to Fat Beats in LA
It's all OK 'cause Fat Beats still wouldn't distribute my record
I it-Pharoah Monch featuring Chubby Checker
Ha ha mic wrecker don't sleep, Superstar