Luyện nghe bài hát Who Writes Your

(C. Kirschner)
Produced by Concetta Kirschner for Concetta Music (BMI). Additional 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 MC oh that's boring 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 shit on the next shit 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 alright a producer alright
I produced this song- so you know who you are you know you 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 to Cannes and I Love Ferris Bueller like tchhickachickkaa
Please don't ask me who my lyrics
I'll spit up in face much faster than you could hear it
ask me who writes my lyrics
Damn ya enamored 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 daughter of Sam, slaughter a man on the
Pardon me ma'am was that part of a man or your son I whipped on the mic and sent home
Big quick shit New York-
Kike and a Wop Wipin a cock walkin the block drop ya jaw to jock to your
I get that a lot yeah stop 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 I abandoned 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 tape in '94 if you got one, I'll buy it
I don't got one no it was called Mitch Better get my Bunny
That shit was shitty but I admit it was dumb but I did it with no money
In 9-5 my first CD called Platinum but it didn't go Platinum it went back to them
And instead of waitin for to put me on
I started a label ran it the money was gone, then came along, then was gone,
Money money, don't try to make it with your songs
But like 'n Pepa in El Segundo we push it a long (Push it!)
And then Fat Beats wouldn't take my 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 records I sold 'em back for double to Fat Beats in LA
It's all OK 'cause when Fat Beats still wouldn't distribute my
I renamed it-Pharoah Monch Chubby Checker
Ha ha mic don't sleep, Princess Superstar