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 Corporation (BMI). Guitar by Pete Kohl. Bass by Walter

I'm the flyest MC the finest MC the MC oh that's boring see
There's another MPC so why you think hip-hop sounds the same except for me?
Cryptic kick shit from the crypt sadistic lick hits wit I'm quick
Rip crickets in a wicket I'm plain wicked thick in the rig wearing kid
I wreck shit on the 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 alright a producer
I produced this so you know 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 James Cahn for a ticket to and I Love Ferris Bueller like tchhickachickkaa
don't ask me who writes my lyrics
I'll spit up in your much faster than you could hear it
ask me who writes my lyrics
Damn ya you're I'm a slam ya hotter than your can down in Alabama
my camera I need a Kodak moment of the moment I made you feel like Hammer
Son of Sam? I'm the of Sam, slaughter a man on the microphone
Pardon me ma'am was that part of a man or your son I just on the mic and sent home
Big shit New York- Stockholm
Kike and a Wop Wipin a 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 made it up I imagined it-I don't got a mind I it in a cabinet
So I could be a for writin a few hits walkin a few pits and cashin in on that shit
I put out my first tape in '94 if you got one, buy it
I don't got one no it was called Mitch Better get my Bunny
That 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 went back to
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, try to make it with your songs
But like 'n Pepa in El Segundo we push it a long (Push it!)
And then Fat wouldn't take my last LP
So I got egg threw em back at the backpacks on 6th Ave. passin me
At the Bagel Buffet planted a next to Grays
And when the records rained I sold 'em back for double to Fat 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, Superstar