Mr. T - Westside Gunn

Brrr!

Ayo, ayo

Nike MAGs glow when I tip toe

Fuck you mean?

I been dope

Half my shooters sniff coke

With no aim, we better get low

Tackma lettermans with a TEC in it

Feed fuck niggas rope, go put ya neck in it

Got my troops in off-white boots

Pulled up, I had my foot hangin' out the coupe

Off white flannel lookin' like a lumberjack

Wit the .30 poppin', you don’t want none of that

Dsquared apron over these squares

Ronnie Fieg, I need size 9 in every pair

Do a nigga filthy for the right price

Dom Pérignon, the lobster and fried rice

One brick, one brick

All I need is one brick

Drive-bys out of Teslas

Scrape the pots for the extras

Bodies dropping on the regular

Run laps around these other rap niggas for fun

At Fashion week with the M1, y’all niggas bums

Killa designer, a serial killer

Niggas thought I was just rhymin' iller

Then I pulled out the stick, run the jewels, run the money

You tried to run and hopped the fence

Tore is back up like junior nigga, filthy rich

Wash my sins with Ace

Allahu Akbar, this work is flake

I’ma be fly forever if the stove work

She sniffin' so much molly, that bitch nose hurt

I was on the path, getting money on the ave

Fiends milly rock seeing that my work glass

If shit slow up, I’ma look prettier in the mask

The cracks in the chip bag, the MAC by the trash

The .45 look big on his forehead

Shot him more times, left that nigga more dead

One brick, one brick

All I need is one brick