Luyện nghe bài hát Who Writes Your

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

I'm the flyest MC the finest MC the nicest MC oh that's see
another MPC so why you think most hip-hop sounds the same except for me?
Cryptic shit from the crypt sadistic lick hits with wit I'm quick
Rip in a wicket 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 split in a 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 producer
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 James Bond than Sean
Conned Cahn for a ticket to Cannes and I Love Ferris Bueller like tchhickachickkaa
Please ask me who writes my lyrics
I'll spit up in face much faster than you could hear it
Don't ask me who writes my
Damn ya you're enamored I'm a slam ya than your can down in Alabama
Where's my camera I need a Kodak moment of the moment I you feel like Hammer
Son of I'm the daughter of Sam, slaughter a man on the microphone
Pardon me ma'am was part of a man or your son I just whipped on the mic and sent home
Big quick 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 stop take shhh let me show you what I got
Made up my mind- like it up I imagined it-I don't got a mind I abandoned it in a cabinet
So I be a candidate for writin a few hits walkin a few pits and cashin in on that shit
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 dumb but I did it with no
In 9-5 my first CD called Strictly Platinum but it didn't go Platinum it back to them
And instead of for someone to put me on
I started a label ran it the money was gone, then came along, then was gone,
Money money money, don't try to make it your songs
But like 'n Pepa in El Segundo we push it a long (Push it!)
And then Fat Beats wouldn't my last LP
So I got egg beaters threw em at the backpacks on 6th Ave. passin me
At the Bagel planted a bomb next to Grays
And when the rained I sold 'em back for double to Fat Beats in LA
It's all OK 'cause when Fat Beats still distribute my record
I renamed it-Pharoah Monch Chubby Checker
Ha ha mic wrecker don't sleep, Princess