[Intro: Guilty Simpson]
Guilty Simpson
My n***a 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, n***as 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, n***a!
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, n***a!
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 "N***a, you don't need these"
Titles and mics, homie, you don't need these
My CD's tight like six n***as 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 n***a, 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, n***a, imagine that