Lyrics:

Uh, Zee
I cop weight in haze, my customers' hoes sleep with me
We have small beef, I still sell them O's for three fifty
They know in big beef, I pop a hundred times
Be like roadkill, I leave niggas' brains on 1 and 9
And my down bitches, they be ready to kill
I be like 'chill,' they be like...

'That's my nigga for real' (Yea, uh huh, I'm from the Bricks, we be like)
'That's my nigga, for real' (Yea, Young Zee, all my niggas from the hood, they be like)
'That's my nigga, for real' (Yea, B-Boy, you my nigga, talk to 'em)

Yo, I don't give a fuck if we don't sell a record
We still gon' get this money in the Bricks
Spill it, Zee

Yea, uh, yea, yea
I'm like, Santa Claus, I deliver niggas grams of raw
Straight from Panama, fiends eat it up like canni-bal
And my dimes disappear like magic wands
I sell 'em, 'til the crack of dawn and destroy every track I'm on
Plus I have a clam packed in the back of vans
More royal than the Taliban, murk you for a half a gram
(What?) I'll get B-Boy to drop your truck in the river
Fuck some dough, he'd be like..


Yea, gyeah, uh-huh-huh, yea
Scarecrow (What?), I'm trying to walk before I crawl
I want it all – ever since I came out of my mama's walls
I'm trying to make so much dough when I write a song
I can buy the mall, while y'all clique on the corner selling 'Final Call's
Yea, niggas mad at us, gladiators like Maximas, we fabulous
While you fall off like Canibus's managers
My man D.U., keep the nina peelin'
(Zee, point 'em out, and watch me serve 'em like Serena Williams)


Zee need Buddha, E-user
Beef, pre-Lugers spittin' from out PT Cruisers
My tape don't drop, I still got dough to make
Got little niggas on roller skates holding my coke and weight
Blow paper, ho chaser, dough raiser, Joe Fraizer
Sixteen cellys and four pagers (Boop-boop-boop-boop...)
Go hype up your squad that they might fuck with ours
I just–light up cigars, go buy bikes, trucks, and cars (C'mon)
Got Axe and Knitty in Atlantic, deep
Ran the street, ten grand a week
I give 'em one word, they'll put your man to sleep
And I love my Jersey live bitches
They'll leave a nigga face with thirty-five stitches
They'll help my tie cinder blocks and push your kids
So deep in the ocean, they'll see where octopuses live
Gyeah, this label deal is for Roz, Pace, and Chill
I know mad heads, but still –


What, Bricks (Bricks, Bricks)