Prx (feat. Guilty Simpson, Alchemist)

Simpson. Word to my daughter. Chris Quelle. Hold up, what? All the 482's. Detroit, let's go. Yeah, we can let streets decide who rides and Who hides. You siding with the guys ducking, We rolling by bucking. And now the giants are gnomes, concrete chest beat, Yeah, hearts of stone. I'm in the slums sipping rum, Bacardi 151. Street roots with a Questlove drum, whoa. You can't flee this MC. It's like a Ferrari racing a ten speed. Lit weed, rolling with a mixed breed. Mulatto chick, video model ditch. Smoking 'til we can't breathe. Falling off the trees when your man leaves. I'm doing it big 'til I'm deceased and laid In the dirt I dig. Watch your step when approaching the crib. The cameras are hid, so make it known who The fuck it is. Bricks. Bricks, bricks, bricks, Bricks, bricks, bricks, bricks, Bricks, bricks, bricks. Yeah. I say fuck it, let 'em all die. You can try saving the world if you want, Guy. Understand there's enough bread for us all to Cake up. Shitting on you niggas gives me a Reason to wake up. Probably get your eyebrows plucked and wearing Makeup. Hit the Cheesecake Factory tryna mack out. They should have stair straight for rappers. Let a real hustler show you actors what you Rap 'bout. Fo', you hitting high notes in a glass house. We eat expensive meals, puff in until pass out. Treat your favorite rapper like he's not important. Blow smoke in your face like Jordan. King shit, bovine boa. Rattlesnakes are shake and sip king cobras. Sasquatch, but the picture's clear. Rather die a slow death than let you bitches Near. Bricks, bricks, bricks, bricks, Bricks, bricks, bricks, Bricks. Adjust the level on the jets of the jacuzzi. Conduit, the words flow through me. UV rays, my wave is groovy. Display a matinee when I spray and make a Movie. Write a chapter, gasoline bath, Ignite a rapper. After seven layers of paint, I apply the lacquer. Smooth finish, no witnesses, no gimmicks. Marinate money and soak spinach. In garlic with cayenne pepper, draped in nylons and Leathers. I'm blowing past the flag with the Checkers. With flying colors off the planet, Fly a shuttle. Settle score subtle, No replies, no rebuttal. Turn a fridge's shoulder, witness while I spit Jehovah. On the rise like bubbles in a soda. Speaking of unfamiliar lingo, got links like a Figaro. Chains jingle, crush up a Pringle, Sniff it with a mingle. stay down the ground, Stack 'em and roll for the cheese. Motherfucker wanna get his head bust, can get it Done for a fee. Lift off from the top Of the key like Jermelle McGee, I'ma flee. I'ma swing a rap right behind the back, George To Jordan number threes. Next jam, reach into the Minivan, got another gun for me to squeeze. Mika. B-R-I-C-K-S. Guilty. Alchemist. Quelle Chris. Bricks. We love her.