Michael Rothschild Bricks

Tekst piosenki

(Verse 1) – Michael Rothschild

Bricks in the attic
Bricks in the mattress
Bricks in the trunk on my Bluetooth in the traffic
Bricks fillin’ up the trunk with fully automatics
Bricks be the reason your television got static

Never gonna stop me I just bring it all back
This cocoa that im grippin, NeVi starin at my pack
Trophies on you bitches, you should bring my ass a plaque
And i’m back
My position, Heart attack on them snitches
Sold a sack, Kenny itches
Then im back to the business
I’m… Back to the Riches
Back to the hammer spraying clips all in the trenches
I know you lost will power snortin’ all them inches

You know I got the rifle
You know my name is Michael
You know i’m out in Paris fuckin’ chillin at the Eiffel
I’m rippin’ through the kneecap, I’m splitting thru the Stifle
They knew im in the business, business bigger than a trifle

Bricks in the kitchen
You a dead man walking when them bricks end up missin’
Them clip riders whippin’
Look like Scottie Pippen, need assists I’m never bitchin’
Little Brodie ass bitch man I told u you should listen

Yes

I got 20 on my watch
If I hate that piece of shit, then imma shoot em with my Glock
Imma shoot with Beretta, I might shoot em with the yop
I might shoot em with a 45, might shoot em with a chop

I never had shit, fuckin’ born without a family
Lookin like a fuckin’ bitch, I thought you was a man to me

Shorty want the drop top convertible Ferrari
Interstate 168 i’m switchin’ with Omari
My old girl, what’s her name, I thought that chick was Barbie
You a dead motherfucker, if you telling me I’m sorry

I ain’t never had a prison sentence, never had a soul mate
You just fuckin’ minor girls, Cardillo want a court date
Bringing in a new ship, while hauling off an old crate
Pull up Mac 11 on them suckas with some more weight

Rollin’ up in black like i’m in New Jack City
Got 20 on my wrist my cousin look at me like really
With the fur all on my jacket you would think I was in Philly
Tryna make a million dollars like my spitta Meek Milly

I never had a hope for shit, now I’m out here gettin’ it
Had a couple losses then, I coalesced and made a split
Far from catchin’ feeling’s now, my father’s death I’m over it
Started out a youngin’ grinding, bout to be on HOVA shit

Walking down, 50 in my zipper, also got a pound
I ain’t talking weed, them pussy’s talking when i’m not around
Cruzin’ thru my city though I hate It no i’m not in town
When i’m shootin on these fakers y’all ain’t never hear a sound

Young chick, she ain’t heard it neither
She walked up in the other room, and thought you had a seizure
Leave ya dead all on the floor, homie like you huffin’ ether
Never spillin’ chemicals up out the motherfuckin’ beaker

Rap and weed got me sick I think I need a breather
I got too many phone calls that’s why I keep a beeper
And if she suck it good I guess that bitch is just a keeper
I’m stepping in my Louis shoes, the blood all on my sneakers

We coming at you dog, like them missile heat-seekers
We rumble like the bass, near them new fleet speakers
Your all-star player a vegetable in the bleachers
And this is why my face expressions look like Mona Lisa’s

Rothschild