Lyrics of 'Byrd Call feat. Cam'Ron' by Jr Writer

[Intro: Cam'Ron]
yo JR?, they've been waitin' for you dawg, they've been asking
you ready? Dipset, Lets Go, Writer

[HOOK: JR Writer]
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, stugglers
block bubblers, pushers, cookers' pot jugglers
Whats the word y'all, Flip that herb raw
Clap, (clap clap) thats the bird-call

If the cops are comin', get to hop n' runnin'
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stoppin' young'un
Put away that herb raw, let'us know the word whore
Clap, (clap clap) thats the bird-call

[JR Writer]
i still be where the weed flip, and the peas with the trees lit
so much water in the order, its just leaving them sea sick
but its me in my V6, trying to skeet on her bead lips
they dont know, like im trying to keep her a secret
act wrong, chrome, passin me dome
next minute, shit im finished, she'll be flaggin' it home
but i always keep a straggler, thats known to bone
and run through a lap, faster than marion jones
man listen, i still got them grams flippin tan pitchen, corner to the damn kitchen
gained a couple fans having made the transition
but im still in the hood like a transmission
no cat can match me, i'm passin fastly who half as nasty
i got it locked from here, all the way to cackalacky
but keep a mac for scrapping, thinkin' its just laffy taffy
shit this beat dun be the only thing clappin' at me

[HOOK:]
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, stugglers
block bubblers, pushers, cookers' pot jugglers
Whats the word y'all, Flip that herb raw
Clap, (clap clap) thats the bird-call

If the cops are comin', get to hop n' runnin'
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stoppin' young'un
Put away that herb raw, let'us know the word whore
Clap, (clap clap) thats the bird-call

[Cam'Ron:]
(Cam, dash, hoffa)
Damn, Homie
In high school you was the man homie
thats what a fan told me (shhhit)
same old cat, get his Kangol clapped
brains blown back, this is dame, but dame dont rap
shame on black, the game's so whack
dame sunk some children
from in front of yo buildin' straight to a hudred million
bad pimpin pimpin', bad actin' dawgy
getcha limp on pimpin', if they actin' froggy
tell'em back up off me, i come down clappin forty
pow thats a badder story, not in my category
mess around, dame held def jam down
supporting my back, jackin' and they left their pounds
red-neck found, tech tech pound
duck duck goose, pump pump shoot, shoot lets get down
it may seem petty, but we all turn mean deadly
for green-fetti, my whole team ready

[HOOK:]
To all my hustlers, rock smugglers, stugglers
block bubblers, pushers, cookers' pot jugglers
Whats the word y'all, Flip that herb raw
Clap, (clap clap) thats the bird-call

If the cops are comin', get to hop n' runnin'
Quick and drop that onion, ain't no stoppin' young'un
Put away that herb raw, let'us know the word whore
Clap, (clap clap) thats the bird-call

[Exit Verse: JR Writer]
this ain't only bars and tracks, this is for the hardest cats
flippin all the harder back, make them catch a heart attack
when you see the narcs attack lemme know, start to clap, clap ,clap
but start with he deals, your pa be on chill
the car is DeVille, is real ill
heart in the grill its far in my mills
Cruise the city with the semi or the celly
on skinnies like i'm starving my wheels