Mr. T Songtext
von 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


Ayo, 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

Killer designer, a serial killer
Niggas thought I was just rhymin′ iller
Then I pulled out the stick, run ya jewels, run the money
You tried to run and hopped the fence

Tore his back up like junior nigga, filthy rich, wash my sins with Ace
Allahu Akbar, all 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, they seeing that my work glass
If shit slow up, I′ma look prettier in a 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