[Lyric] Who Could Fuck Wit Me (J.R. Writer)

[Hook]
Who could fuck with me?
Who could fuck with me?
What you schmucks don't see
I'm a fucking G
Who could fuck with me?
It's a couple ki's when I come to re where the hustlers be
Who could fuck with me?

[Verse 1]
Who could fuck with me?
Who could fuck with me?
You could fuck with me?
What, you puff some D or you stuck on E?
Who the fuck you be?
You get dumped for free in the garbage bag
When I spark and blast
I could call your ass Pinocchio
When I carve your ass with the Harlem swag
Every rhyme is piff, line-for-line I'm sick
Never mind my wrist, or my shines they gliss
You don't shine like this or rhyme like this, in designer fits
Them designs you pick, they come to me for designer tips
I'm beyond this shit -- who you trying to diss?
I'm on a fast pace, you dudes in the last place
Eminem at the MTV Awards -- you's an ass face
You don't stack cake -- the cheddar's never on you
Since you think you that great, I just got one question for you
[Hook]

[Verse 2]
Who could fuck with me?
Who could fuck with me?
I'm the one you see when you come to re
What you want? Some ki's or a couple P's?
What the fuck you need?
Nigga, hurry up 'fore I burn it up
You gon' murder what?
I could hear you clear, but I turn it up
You ain't heard of us?
Better get some advice 'fore we end you tonight, little nigga
It's like with the booth in the bathroom -- I'm the shit with the mic
Get the pen and I write cause I'm lyrically nice
You gon' get me for ice?
Pull that llama out, we will stomp you out
Get a kick and alike when we kick you with Nikes
I'm the sickening type, with a pen from the Heights
I'm Dominican, right?
Call me Rafer Alston, how I skip with the white
What you think it was like?
You ain't think I was nice?
Don't be thinking polite
I'm a fucking G
What you chumps don't see
Who could fuck with me?