Lyrics:
off
I stopped trustin' niggas since Gotti got caught
It's Bricks, keep your wrist covered, I'm piss colored
By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris
off
I stopped trustin' niggas since Gotti got caught
It's Bricks, keep your wrist covered, I'm piss colored
By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris
a chairman (diamond)
Rolex beat, it's time for just winning, no fakes
Just copped more 4 5's and 9s, I ain't talking bout no J's
Please be afraid but I
we was jackin the plug
When i up that pipe i blast at ya
Ay
Steady fuckin slidin ina acura
Ay
Yo ponta had died we clapped em up
Ay
My big bro got
time is near, so get your body dropped off
I stopped trustin niggaz since Gotti got caught
It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored
By
Yeah, turn me up, yo
Ayyo I'm like a lifeguard on the beat
When niggas try to rap, I come through and I save the track
I'm fresh like Mannie, fly like
when I hit yo shit danger
Multiple rounds when the caliber spit
Like my folks BO I mash on tracks to get the paper
Money by the ton stack the loot
It's Yo boy Juan Gotti Juan Gachos
Shout out Aiden, Manic Beats
No set trippin' records in this bitch
What's up Steve Era
Ah
Now you on the floor
the don
Straight legit, while niggas like Gotti just sit
[Chorus: x4]
A yeah yeah
I push rhymes like weight
I push rhymes like weight
I hold
in the club tryin to duck us (WHAT?)
And if you walk by nigga, I'ma knock fire nigga
from yo' ass, you can come try nigga (HEY!)
In the hood, all
[Krayzie]
Yeah, Bone Enterpri$e in tha muthafuckin house, nigga!
Yo, y'all muthafucka's that didn't think we was comin' out
Check this shit out: I
keepin
my
shit real tight
Fuck it no doubt for fuckin around witches stick a Dolomite
I'm quick for jackin yo cheese outta yo keys and spendin yo G's
what it takes
To stop the funk mutha from freelance jackin
Brushes up on yo skills, cause fool I ain't lackin
With my hands on my dick, my click is thick
what it takes
To stop the funk mutha from freelance jackin
Brushes up on yo skills, cause fool I ain't lackin
With my hands on my dick, my click is thick
much 'dro that our lungs feel like they collapsin'
Trick I see you and yo' partners laughin'
Jaw-jackin' and scammin' and plottin'
Old soft-ass,
paintin' wit'cha names
T-shirts airbrushed that read the same
They carryin Bone's chain
One gone but yo we miss ya'
Harris photos school shots can you
and you ain't got what it takes
To stop the funk mutha from freelance jackin
Brushes up on yo skills, cause fool I ain't lackin
With my hands on my dick,
money, guns, all I know like Yo Gotti
Police has rappers ion trust him, call him Tekashi
I had to tell kash to slow down, he tried to bby Mazi
We can hit
final thoughts
As I re-cock with more lines than a brochure
Stocked, ready to rock the elements of hip-hop
Do Gotti plots over instrumentals
Hit your
one shot ass
J to the A-Y to the drive by to your hood screamin bye-bye to you
Why would you fuck with me
Knowing I put you six feet deep and them
one shot ass
J to the A-Y to the drive by to your hood screamin bye-bye to you
Why would you fuck with me
Knowing I put you six feet deep and them
or cycle
Watch Marnz beat it like Michael
Four-four long nose bine full, just for the rivals
On the Paris by the Eiffel
Heard she want a shooter, aight,
pour
Niggas like, "Ruck, Fuck you rhyming to this beat for?"
Listen, life is like a muthafuckin' seesaw
One minute you hot, the next, "Yo, where's
that'll beat yo ass down
Shoot you in the face as soon as you hit the ground
Hit a nigga, split a nigga, then give you a pound
32 rounds, packin extendeds,
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