Luyện nghe bài hát Who Writes Your

(C. Kirschner)
Produced by Concetta Kirschner for Concetta Music (BMI). Additional Production by 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
There's another MPC so why you most hip-hop sounds the same except for me?
Cryptic kick shit from the crypt sadistic hits with wit I'm quick
Rip crickets in a wicket I'm plain 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 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 Bond than Sean John
Conned James Cahn for a ticket to Cannes and I Love Ferris like tchhickachickkaa
Please don't ask me who my lyrics
I'll up in your face 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 I'm the daughter 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 cock walkin the 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 imagined it-I 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 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 funny I 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 of waitin for someone to put me on
I started a label ran it 'til the money was gone, then came along, was gone,
money money, don't try to make it with your songs
But like Salt 'n Pepa in El Segundo we it a long (Push it!)
And then Fat Beats wouldn't take my LP
So I got egg beaters threw em at the backpacks on 6th Ave. passin me
At the Bagel Buffet planted a bomb to Grays
And the records 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 featuring Chubby
Ha ha mic don't sleep, Princess Superstar