Luyện nghe bài hát 17 Reasons

car of weed
see him creep up
hit him in the jaw
took him for his and his beeper
left him on the ground, caughin
pissed in the ????, pulled the plug
2 to the dome, didn't let him
and like a chicken, put him in the pot then
life in the Rich, gotta think
be about your money, you can't trust a
fucked in the game, gettin paid
but when tagged his toe, the boy made the news
and like Spice said, from to zags
from to funeral
just another nigga on the grass
18 and bad luck, gives a fuck
here comes a truck
2 days everybody cryin
and at the funeral bangers in
comes his mother pushin through the crowd
screamin oh my god don't y child
I'm in the back dressed in
9 in my pocket caue P is trigga
Lil O.G. tapes and c.d.'s
puttin in like some Levi jeans
and when my number's called, you I'm ready bro
cause I got 17 reasons, I'll let you

17 reasons, to let go
shoot em up, bang, you fuckin with a psycho
17 reasons, to let go
shoot em up, bang bang, you with a psycho
17 reasons, to let go
shoot em up, bang bang, you with a psycho

back on the
P making green, playa hatas hate to see a nigga go
slangin dope, but got dope tapes
went worldwide, from the Bay
from No to SMG
put it in the trunk, ship it the sea
Saint get the check, King break they
it's all legit, Solar Flex
one blow and I'll drop ya, you might need a
a getaway, C-Murder got the Shocker
stuck to ass, played you like a bitch
mark ass niggas get the 86
besides run up and mean mug the P
fools comeup short, Silkk get teeth
stick it in the ground, till it turn
and if a fool he be suckin on soup
em in the car with a broken jaw
it ain't you heard, it's what you saw
retaliation's a must, why I bust
but fool, got 17
you motherfuckin ass up

17 reasons, to let go
shoot em up, bang, you fuckin with a psycho
17 reasons, to let go
shoot em up, bang bang, you fuckin with a
17 reasons, to let go
shoot em up, bang bang, you with a psycho

on my ride
4 woofers, 2
and when the stop
hoochies wanna lines
on my shit
for a hit
watchin them niggas
to get a fix
I walk with a limp, mean like a
Colt 45, gone off that
Master P, the nappy head
don't give a fuck, don't by no rules
rata-tat-tat, just the Brat
P leaving stuck on their back
better check his pulse, left him with his open
struck him the back, god damn watch his head open
throw him off the cliff, take him to the torcher
and was who
I'll be like Shawn
dumpin bodies off straight to the
Master P, in the hood, Black Harry
Richmond Balla, 23rd Street
independent, started from the gutter
went big time, took to the gangsta
put the on the map, that's the fucking like of crime
the hoods hectic,
the P respected
but got to pack heat
incase some test me

17 reasons, to let go
em up, bang bang, you fuckin with a pyscho