[Intro: Guilty Simpson]
Guilty Simpson
My nigga Med
J Dilla!
Raw shit
[Verse 1: Guilty Simpson]
Prolific, flow like blow, sniff it
And get zooted, banging that dope music
My mind is set – this year, niggas better step it up
I get the job done way before the check is cut
I don't write raps for free (Fuck that)
If I did, I won't make it like Shaq from three
My motto is simple:
"Without that loot, your instrumentals stay instrumentals"
A blind man could see the kid's potential
And take notice, so I grind and stay focused
If I was any hotter, I'd drink straight vodka, spit out flames, and piss lava
That hot, fam, try again
That's why I got hoes like firemen
You could plug 'em up to hydrants
I should push a big red truck with sirens
Got a flow that'll stop beginners
I maul y'all like a shopping center
Every time I yell, I say
"J Detroit I to the L-L-A"
[Hook: Guilty Simpson & MED]
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
[Bridge: Guilty Simpson & MED]
With that raw shit
Turn it up loud in your car shit
Finger tips split that cigar shit
Let's smoke, nigga!
Holla at your mans, I'll blow with ya
That raw shit
Turn it up loud in your car shit
Finger tips split that cigar shit
Let's smoke, nigga!
Holla at your mans, I'll blow with ya
[Hook: Guilty Simpson & MED]
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
J Detroit I to the L-L-A
[Verse 2: M.E.D.]
I bang nothing but that raw shit
Neighbors bang on the wall, pissed from the noise and the blunt scent
With a chick, getting blown like a trumpet
They're wondering how I stand still and still run this
Full stomach, hunger in the eyes, greedy
In your speezy, takin' shit like "Nigga, you don't need these"
Titles and mics, homie, you don't need these
My CD's tight like six niggas in a Sea Breeze
I flow so sick and won't sneeze
My set holds traps, with no cheese
Wrap G's, rubberband, one hand, I'll part your gold teeth
J Dilla, my nigga, I call him O.G
The street symphony, epitome
The underdogs who grind hard for the victory
Get them weak rhymes outta my face
I clap 16 bars that might catch me a case
I'm back, don't stop 'til my lungs collapse
'Til then close your eyes, nigga, imagine that
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