Luyện nghe bài hát 40 Acres and My Props

Showbiz got props, me who got the props?
A.G. got props, me who got the props?
me my props for '92
It's me and and this is what we gonna do
Give you some now, save for later
Here's a portion, ayo Show, kick the

Record labels try and me, for what? For my papers
The offer me a and what else? And 40 acres
I'm snakes now, there's no time to catch the vapors
And I'm not a pup, for what? A caper

And all the ghetto groupies get free the quickness
And Show concentrate and only thinks about
I hate a because he put me in a rage
I KRS and throw that ass off the stage

So give me my props I always stay clever
And ain't nothing changed but the
Get your act together I got mines together
Please don't front on the brother the Pelle Pelle leather

I'm B I Z, my partner's A.G.
Chill with Greg N I C E or my D R E S
And up to Lord Finesse
And I'd to give shouts to my peeps Shorty and Wes
People say, I'm soup, cash, I recoup
Nowadays I troop in my green Legend Coupe

Record companies try to me for my papers
They offer me a mule and about 40
They try to gain from my
Push me towards the dotted line but you know I sign

Labels straight up when we meet
Interfere with my career, then it's to the streets
bang or the pow pow
I settle the beef the way I know how

Release the beast if I'm not taking care
Rap is my career and it's my only way here
Every chance I do
And I manage to use all the anger to my

All that is but the brain is the tool
Gimme my props so we all can
Don't show off my skills, I sprinkle 'em
And now you're on my props
Wake up before you 'em

Gimme my props, yo, than a cop, yo
'Til I master hip hop, I stop, yo
Gimme my yo, more than a cop, yo
'Til I master hip hop, I stop, yo

Gimme my props, yo, than a cop, yo
'Til I master hip hop, I stop, yo
Gimme my props, yo, than a cop, yo
'Til I master hip hop, I won't

They say BMW's a black wish
I for an SP-1200 and some discs
Negativity the least, is cease
Saying to the brothers in the belly of the beast

People saying, "Why Show rhyme?"
I didn't wanna get back and do Fed
I wanna live and exact, I don't wanna be a fat cat
Off the crack and have the Feds my back
If the stacked, take a step back, black
Or you'll be four four numbers like a quarterback

I was raised one by Mom dukes and no Dad
And now I grab a number, 2 and a pad
Or Erasermate, if I make I erase
And me and go digging in the crates

Where's my 40 acres? Not the projects of
I asked for a mule, I got an horse
Shit on as the song plays
Can a fool a Muslim? Nah, not nowadays

On your mark, get set, pass the 40, jet
A fat rhyme is what you want, a fat is what you'll get
It's thorough beginning to end
The beat is phat, what can I say? you did it again

I got the hat on my head, Pepe's on my
Fans on my back and on my mind
I don't sweat the stress, the bitter with the sweet
Did I let you know I have the on my feet?

You my stats when I came around
Saying, "Damn, he's living fat", when I even gained a pound
til the end, never will I diss ya
My people's R.I.P., you know I'm gonna ya
40 acres and my props, the name of the
A.G. is peace and I'm gone

Gimme my props, yo, than a cop, yo
'Til I hip hop, I won't stop, yo
my props, yo, more than a cop, yo
'Til I master hip hop, I stop, yo

Gimme my props, yo, more a cop, yo
'Til I master hip hop, I stop, yo
my props, yo, more than a cop, yo
'Til I hip hop, I won't stop

Yeah, Showbiz, yeah, A.G,
Showbiz, yeah, A.G