Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Brick Licka, artist - Mike-DDate of issue: 04.12.2003
Song language: English
Brick Licka |
| What what what what, we brick lickas nigga |
| Hide your motherfucking ki’s nigga |
| Cause I come to get em nigga, (Mike D nigga) |
| Who run the town down, gun the town down |
| Really out of town, shuffle bricks and pounds |
| You know nigga, who the fuck I be |
| Corleone nigga, the brick lick hitter |
| (who the fuck is you), Corleone the brick licka |
| (how you handle niggas), with a hot point sticker |
| (what you sipping on boy), straight bar no liquor |
| (well how you handle broads), I’m a true dick sticker |
| (what you flipping cat), Range fo' point sixer |
| (who you run with nigga), Clay-Doe the wig splitter |
| (who up in the crew), Young Duke the go-getter |
| (what camp you claiming), Laf-Tex nigga |
| I don’t know what make these hoes think, cause I stand out |
| I’m good for a hand out, and making they land rot |
| Motherfuckers must don’t know bout me, Boss got me on from that 3 |
| Where my niggas gon bust with me, side by side let em fly with me |
| 24/7 getting high with me, always smoking on the finest tree |
| Ain’t no limit like Master P, money in the bank like Jermaine Dupri |
| Hit a shot straight to his arteries, FED’s still waiting on the autopsy |
| Fucking with a nigga from 3-R-D, game and short to the Penitentiary |
| You niggas gay and elementary, and I damn if you hoes try to contradict me |
| Only real niggas gon stick with me, whether I’m broke or having money |
| Send him on a test like a crash dummy, fighting with vets and old top primey’s |
| All I ride and all I slide, on buck hide DVD’s inside |
| All you niggas the big 4−1, are fucking with a nigga like me |
| Like who cause I come to him nigga, Boss Hogg Corleone nigga |
| Got a thousand and one problems, and money still ain’t a thang |
| And I gamble my dope money, to get in this rap game |
| Now look at me now, scrambling C.E.O. |
| money |
| Taking notes and quotes, from all you industry crash dummies |
| Getting in where you fit in, like old hip hop bond |
| Been in the game for ten deep, and you still working with crumbs |
| That’s why I’m planted like concrete, to the fam' we been in |
| I don’t need no new niggas around me, new millions only |
| Front line, niggas that don’t mind niggas |
| Out of town niggas, that love to find niggas |
| In a berry wine Bentley, dranked out on Remmy |
| Throwing dick to bad chicks, when the X-O hit me |
| 2000 trying to hit me, playing with legalized dope |
| Doing circles round you dopefiend rappers, in low-low's |
| Or maybe the fo' do', S Type Jag on chrome |
| Corleone, gon get his hustle on |
| (*talking*) |
| Scoob what’s up, Dave, Ant |
| Ain’t forgot about y’all mayn, we in here doing this shit |
| You know I’m saying Yellowstone, what’s the deal |
| Ward what, swang and holla at me mayn |
| Know I’m saying, Clay, Brandoe |
| We got what on the motherfucking tracks mayn what |