Letras de Perfectionist

Hustle out of necessity, father never corrected me
Streets showed me no sympathy, Audemar my accessory
Never accurate, I′m aiming at your Acura
Heart rate accelerate on other amateurs

And I murder anything in my perimeter
If they disrespect us we slide on them like a banister
Dodging fed cameras, balling like fuck a stand meter
Block doing numbers, I graduated to manager

Bricks in the Maybach, bricks in the Escalade
Bricks on Brickley, we got bricks in the bay
San Fran bricks, got bricks in LA
Publisher want some money, I got bricks on this plane

And my nigga Brick on his way
Just did a dime for a brick of the yay
I'm switching up my bricks like my kicks with my lay
Rule number one, never keep them bricks where you stay

All my women photogenic, they never depreciate
Pop up in your city, it′s strictly about the cake
Quarters to halves on my road to the riches
All real niggas just playing different positions

Ross gon' be the quarterback, I'ma run this quarter back
Feds tryna intercept a nigga like a cornerback
Make a nigga pay a couple birds to get his daughter back
Get the dirty money, clean it all up at the laundromat

I′m allergic to failure, heroin paraphernalia
Frank Lucas furs at the fight on my cellular
Ball like Mayweather, Don King at the register
I stack cheddar, it′s et cetera, et cetera

I'm addicted to winning, pretty women and spending
Ferragamo and linen, a nigga start and he finish
DA label me menace, mama call me a king
So therefore I′m dropping soon like Tyson was in the ring

Coca-Cola mink, canary yellow stones
I'ma stunt if it mean I gotta break a bone (Boss)
Me and Meek Milly in the hood on chrome
Double MG and we twenty million strong

No matter if it′s chess or checkers 'cause it′s all blocks
I'm in this 911 Porsche with a bald spot
No roof, fresh off the car lot
And we don't call cops, nigga, we just call shots

Fuck the competition, I bury the cockroaches
Faint when you see what I pull up out the holster
Can′t even breathe, remember what your mama told ya
We the real G′s and the well paid soldiers

So if you niggas scared call the feds up
We taking over, I'm just giving niggas heads up
We shoot ′em down just to let 'em know we dead up
Eight figure nigga, tell the labels give that bread up

MMG, bitch
We just do shit like this for no reason
No pen, no pad flow