My personal favorite song from the album. This track is mostly antagonistic rap but has subtle references to my weed addiction & desires to go pro as a rapper, but never being able to achieve that dream.
Yeah, yeah..
Javelin..
[HOOK]
Writing, constantly writing..
Writing writer wires lines together like twine & then mics sliced & diced..
Not a mite or iota of fight in you hoes & it’s over..
Writing, constantly writing..
Writing writer wires lines together like twine & then mics sliced & diced..
Not a mite or iota of fight in you hoes & it’s over..
[VERSE 1]
It’s the globe trotter, the jet setter, the hoe’s father, the Wild West boy with a gold revolvеr, working on my focus, to sulk is like a plague of locusts preying on your notions, a cornucopia of cold flows in thе winter solstice, sober don’t appeal to me, unnoticed at most, his dope shit is atrocious in terms of whether it slaps when blasted out of the back of a "P-H" phat Cadillac or if the track list stacked with rad shit, madness, utter madness, luster on his glasses, courtesy of crummy fashion, back in agony the baggie has to be fat, pinch dank which sank the battleship, we battle rap then he split his lip tryna chop, the Glock’s cocked, the Monstropolis monster is stomping your mom’s cock..
(Gobbling shit talkers like Rick Ross.. hmph.. alright..)
[HOOK]
Writing, constantly writing..
Writing writer wires lines together like twine & then mics sliced & diced..
Not a mite or iota of fight in you hoes & it’s over..
Writing, constantly writing..
Writing writer wires lines together like twine & then mics sliced & diced..
Not a mite or iota of fight in you hoes & it’s over..
[VERSE 2]
I drop the atom bomb on headstrong foes, your flow’s dead wrong hoe, the bed’s strong baby, we can bone hard as we want, c’mon gimme the moans, gives me the most hope the vision of going pro but in me there is a ghost that holds sway over souls, it’s a cold day in my zone so just don’t hate if I’m thrown, the phone rings & it’s on, gimme the chrome, we gon’ show em what happens in the state of the Lone Ranger, hoe don’t bang the Jav if you can’t hang, giving ya spells from a mage, who the hell can fucking hang?..
Uh.. Javelin..
Suckas...
[SAMPLE]
Of course I would never be a master of anything..
So I made a decision..
If I could never be the best, then I would find the man who could & serve at his side..
Writer was written by Javelin.
Writer was produced by Brayden Potts.