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Who Writes Your Lyrics

I'm the flyest MC, the finest MC

The nicest MC, oh, that's boring see, there's another MPC

So why you think most hip-hop

Sounds the same except for me?Cryptic kick shit from the crypt

Sadistic lick hits with whit I'm quick

Rip crickets in a wicket, I'm plain wicked

Thick in the rig wearing kid lipstickI wreck shit on the next shit

Spit it in ya ear, bit like a Q-Tip

Big silly bitch, wickedy witch, lickety split

In a sitch, no dick but talk big, carry a big stickSo, I'm a girl, yeah, I'm white

And I write all night with a bare swinging light on the computer alright

A producer alright, I produced this song

So you know who you are, you know you were wrongNo, I was not in that porn 'On Golden Blonde'

Got it going on, more James Bond than Sean John

Conned James Cahn for a ticket to Cannes

And I Love Ferris Bueller like tchhickachickkaaPlease, don't ask me who writes my lyrics

I'll spit up in your face much faster than you could hear it

Don't ask me who writes my lyrics

I'll spit up in your face much faster than you could hear itDamn ya, you're enamored, I'm a slam ya

Hotter than your can down in Alabama

Where's my camera? I need a Kodak moment

Of the moment I made you feel like HammerSon of Sam? 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 whipped on the mic and sent homeBig quick, shit, New York, Stockholm

Kike and a Wop Wiping a cock

Walking the block drop ya jaw to jock to your sock

I get that a lot, yeah, oh stop take stock

Shh, let me show you what I gotMade up my mind like made it up I imagined it

I don't got a mind, I abandoned it in a cabinet

So I could be a candidate for writing a few hits

Walking a few pits and cashing in on that shit

(Please, don't ask me who writes my lyrics)I'll spit up in your face much faster than you could hear it

Don't ask me who writes my lyrics, uh uhI put out my first tape in '94 if you got one, I'll buy it

I don't got one no more it was called Mitch Better Get My Bunny

That shit was shitty but funny

I admit it was dumb but I did it with no moneyIn 9-5 my first CD called Strictly Platinum

But it didn't go Platinum, it went back to them

And instead of waiting for someone to put me on

I started a label ran it 'til the money was goneThen came along, then was gone

Money, money, money, don't try

To make it with your songs but like Salt 'n Pepa

In El Segundo we push it along, push itAnd then Fat Beats wouldn't take my last LP

So I got egg beaters, threw 'em back

At the backpacks on 6th Ave. passing me

At the Bagel Buffet planted a bomb next to GraysAnd when the records rained, I sold 'em back

For double to Fat Beats in L.A.

It's all okay 'cause when Fat Beats

Still wouldn't distribute my recordI renamed it, Pharaoh Monch

Featuring Chubby Checker

Mic wrecker, don't sleep

Princess Superstar, the shit's deep

Enjoy the lyrics !!!