2 Brick's - Scott Free, Caskey

Try the squad, we gon' get us twenty-five to life

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, whoa, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, woop, yee

Okay, I got the plug and I’m pluggin' the streets, I feel like Pablo

Devilish, so I name the coupe I’m drivin', «El Diablo»

I flood the streets, let the knots swell, I’m outer space but I landed in

Rosswell

And I promise I will not tell, we got rich off of the pot sales

You a snitch and your homie a bitch, got no change, we been off at the Ritz

Only thing I’m concerned about is my money duplicatin', I’m gettin' rich

Yeah, twenty chicks off at the crib, 'mind me of ménage

You gon' tell 'em everything then negate the charge

Camera phone, turn my trap house to a porno place

In the Lamb like my favorite place to fornicate

Yeah, thirty Xans, I got plays that I could formulate

Yeah, get the check, spend it all 'cause we got more to make

It’s beef, I put the gun safe on him, you savin' hoes, put a cape on him

My homie ain’t doin' crossover records when I say he got a drac' on him

That’s a draco, we came from pushin' the weight though

You ain’t been nothin' but bait though, the plug name is Jose Canseco, yeah

When I die, bury me beside two bricks of white (yeah)

Bad bitches in the cut, just might end your life (yeah)

Twenty thousand all in cash, man, it’s only right (yeah)

Try the squad, we gon' get us twenty-five to life

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, whoa, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah (Free), woop, yee

Bad bitches, fast cars, put that shit on my headstone

Cocaine all in this game but most that shit get stepped on

Get my money off of white rock, call my ass a Deftone

I take yo' bitch all in yo' face and that make me a klepto

Ain’t no fuck shit out my headphones, gold chains, Death Row

Cocaine, sell blow, got the tight grip and won’t let go

When I do, that’s sixteen shots, snitchin' boy tryna get me caught

I hit yo' crib like a pitstop, masked up like Slipknot

Fo' five and it slip not, do my dirt all on my own

Where I lay my hat I call my home, that just might be yo' trap house

Tunnel vision, blacked out, SK with the MAC out

And I swear to God all on my mom, I’ll blow your fuckin' back out

When I die, bury me beside two bricks of white (yeah)

Bad bitches in the cut, just might end your life (yeah)

Twenty thousand, all this cash, man, it’s only right (yeah)

Try the squad, we gon' get us twenty-five to life

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, whoa, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, woop, yee