Lyrics 2 Brick's - Scott Free, Caskey

2 Brick's

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