Luyện nghe bài hát Who Writes Your

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

I'm the MC the finest MC the nicest MC oh that's boring see
There's 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 sitch no but talk big carry a big stick
So I'm a girl, yeah I'm white and I all night with a bare swingin light
On the computer a producer alright
I produced this song- so you who you are you know you were wrong
No I was not in that porn On Golden got it goin on more James Bond than Sean John
James Cahn for a ticket to Cannes and I Love Ferris Bueller like tchhickachickkaa
Please don't ask me who writes my
I'll spit up in your face faster than you could hear it
Don't ask me who writes my
Damn ya you're enamored I'm a slam ya hotter than 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 that of a man or your son I just whipped on the mic and sent home
Big quick shit New York-
Kike and a Wop Wipin a cock walkin the block ya jaw to jock to your sock
I get that a lot yeah stop take stock let me show you what I got
up my mind- like made it up I imagined it-I don't got a mind I abandoned it in a cabinet
So I could be a candidate for writin a few hits walkin a few pits and in on that shit
I put out my first tape in '94 if you got one, buy it
I don't got one no more it was called Better get my Bunny
shit was shitty but funny I admit it was dumb but I did it with no money
In 9-5 my first CD called Strictly Platinum but it didn't go Platinum it back to them
And of waitin for someone to put me on
I started a 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 push it a (Push it!)
And Fat Beats wouldn't take my last LP
So I got egg beaters threw em back at the on 6th Ave. passin me
At the Bagel Buffet planted a bomb to Grays
And when the rained I sold 'em back for double to Fat Beats in LA
all OK 'cause when Fat Beats still wouldn't distribute my record
I renamed Monch featuring Chubby Checker
Ha ha mic wrecker don't sleep, Superstar