Luyện nghe bài hát Who Writes Your

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

I'm the flyest MC the finest MC the nicest MC oh boring see
There's another MPC so why you think most sounds the same except for me?
Cryptic kick shit from the 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 shit on the next shit spit it in ya ear bit a Qtip
Big silly wickedy witch lickety split 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 with a bare swingin light
On the computer alright a producer
I produced this song- so you know who you are you know you were
No I was not in that On Golden Blonde 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 up in your 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
Where's my camera I need a Kodak 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 son I just whipped on the mic and sent home
Big quick New York- Stockholm
Kike and a Wop Wipin a walkin the block drop ya jaw to jock to your sock
I get a lot yeah stop take stock shhh let me show you what I got
Made up my mind- like made it up I 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 in '94 if you got one, I'll buy it
I don't got one no more it was called Mitch get my Bunny
That shit was 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 instead of for someone to put me on
I started a label ran it 'til the money was gone, then along, then was gone,
Money money money, don't try to make it with songs
But like Salt 'n in El Segundo we push it a long (Push it!)
And then Fat Beats wouldn't my last LP
So I got egg threw em back 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 wouldn't my record
I renamed it-Pharoah Monch Chubby Checker
Ha ha mic wrecker don't sleep, Superstar