Writer's Block Lyrics - Royce Da 5'9

Yeah, yeah 

I don't know what else to say 

I can't, I can't think of nothin' 

I'm stumped 

Here we go (Here we go) 

On your feet (On your feet) 

Stand up (Stand up) 

Everybody hands up (Hands up) 

Uh, man, I dunno, man 

Everytime I go to think of something played out to say 

You already said it 

I ain't calling names cause all of y'all the same, plus 

I'm the king, all my past pain all done changed up 

All these plains, all these lames, since the Slaughter's came up 

Cause they know they hands tied, feet ball and chained up 

Niggas be quick to call me the new 50 Cent 

Because of my relationship with Marshall 

Used to make me a little partial, but here's the brain fuck 

We the same cuz 

I'm probably about to fall out with a young buck 

While I attempt to fuck the fucking game up 

Bitch, splat, only thing I fear in here is chit-chat 

You are hearing bars like your ear against a Kit Kat 

Shady guys like the Navy, drive, wavy bye-bye 

Maybe my Glock can turn your top to baby's Maybach 

My shit is powerful, literally sick, trust me nigga 

It's ugly to kill a thing if the bigger I get 

The more disgusting and fuckin' disfigured it gets 

Niggas expect me to go pop, oh, stop 

Y'all about the champagne, I'm about the toast 

I, only fuck with mailmen with heroin from Boca 

Niggas that'll smoke you while you staring in your postbox 

Only incense he enlightens when he's thinkin' 

While that sinks in, I got a Brinks ink pen 

I'm back, muthafucker 

Notice the flyness on the cover of the XXL 

I'm back from the dead like Tobey Maguire from the Brothers 

How y'all realer? (How y'all realer?) If I said it, I did it 

If I didn't, I seen it first-hand like a car dealer 

Give up the throne, your lease up, I am the Mona Lisa 

That decoded Da Vinci Code, you throwin' your piece up 

Is a waste of fake like a phony B-cup 

Nigga, the mistake was like my only teacher 

Wait 'til they get a load of me 'cause 

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I've got Gucci's on my feet 

Diamonds on my neck 

Diamonds on my wrist 

Bitches on my dick 

But y'all already said that 

Choppers in the trunk 

Models in the front 

Bottles in the club 

But I don't give a fuck 

But y'all already said that 

Cause sometimes I feel like it's so hard 

For me to come up with shitty to say (Ayyyyyy) 

I'm at a loss for words 'cause y'all already said it all 

I think I'm runnin' out of cliches 

I'm gettin' writer's block 

Psyche! 

When I stand up in this booth, niggas notice it 

Sittin' on the same boat that Noah built 

Floatin' on the same water Moses split 

Poetry in motion, but we sittin' on your grave site, overkill 

Aren't you tired? Why are you so loud? Quiet! 

Real dudes move in silence like a mute drivin' a new hybrid 

You dudes is too excited 

You a dude that'd try to sue a dude that's suicidal 

You will just be another victim 

I am like a nickel of weed rolled in a doobie, I'm a little twisted 

I roll like the end credits in movies, y'all just got scripted 

Got y'all niggas' bitches bobbin' to this one when she witcha 

When she wit' me, she bobbin', not vibin' 

Tryna put her mind into the inside of my zipper 

I'm a sperate with a purpose, havin' problems? 

Not a problem I've encountered 

I have found elephants, lions, clowns 

Will jump through hoops like they workin' for the circus 

At the fire round the circle's right in front of them, fire rounds 

Pun intended, gun extended, what are you mark's askin'? 

Car's Aston, started as a hard-top and I saw past it 

Since I decided to start Class diss 

All black, all glass, panoramic roof been gettin' marked absent 

I authorize my own all-access 

Your bitch a whore, I'm a catch, she ball-catchin' 

Her jaw's been broadcasted all across the globe from the store to Japan 

Her pussy need to blocked and reported as spam 

Bong! Interscope up in this dope and I sell it 

My voicemail is full, got bitches screamin' inside of envelopes 

And they tryna mail 'em to me, tryna reach my phone 

I don't know which one is harder 

Tryna not to take your bitch or tryna get rid of my own 

I got Gucci's on my feet 

Diamonds on my neck 

Diamonds on my wrist 

Bitches on my dick 

But y'all already said that 

Choppers in the trunk 

Models in the front 

Bottles in the club 

But I don't give a fuck 

But y'all already said that 

Cause sometimes I feel like it's so hard 

For me to come up with shitty to say (Ayyyyyy) 

I'm at a loss for words 'cause y'all already said it all 

I think I'm runnin' out of cliches 

I'm gettin' writer's block 

Psyche! 

Man, get the bozac 

We need to start bringin' that shit back (Mad flava) 

Man, fuck it, I'm 'bout to catch some wreck (We in effect, money!) 

Mad props to Royce for keepin' it real 

On the strength, no diggity 

I'm 'bout to go pull some hoes, get my mack on 

Haters get the gasface 

Photos