Luyện nghe bài hát Bitchezwit Dikz

f/ Lil Dap, Miz

Jeru The Damaja
Yes yes

Check it out here now, knowhatimean?
Henryville, the bitchez wit dikz
in the midst,
of the real brothers the true wonders

Knowhatimsayin? all that shit about this and this and that

But fakin shit, I'mma it like this

The Damaja
Bad and techs, and sound affects

Talk but like Tara Lipinski, when shit get hec-tic
Out in Brooklyn, too late you's a
And if spend dough on a hoe, you a bitch ass trick
Pimps and players, no I'm not a

'cause I smashed it off, she bust me I ain't pay her
youse a regulator,
soft C3PO, but pop shit like Darth Vader
For Princess Leia, with hard like Shaggy
Your booty, when get raw you Doo like Scooby
I'm snatching chains, mics and those platinum

Dutches, chins, and get twist
And let it be known, I eat ya'll like a porno movie
Drop that with a dick, and get a nigga like this

Chorus: Jeru The (Miz Marvel)

You see him the in the ghetto (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
Think they pimps, but tricks (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
Turn to evidence (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
beef come they skip (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
*bitch!*
You never see him the in the (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
Think they pimps, but they (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
When beef they skip (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
Turn to evidence (Bitchez Wit Dikz)
*bitch!*

{Lil Dap
You niggas are like East New York waste, in your face
Open mouth, swallow the taste, listen to the pace
It's showin the love, the same thing as pullin the club
Spit it out, ya hoes know what this is about
wit dicks, and make a nigga mad as shit
Cough the cough, when thru the streets of New York
Holdin it down, but wavin my all around

'cause these motherfuckers, wanna round are town
Thinkin down, but dont know BK grounds
*bitch!*

Chorus

{Miz
The next contestant left to be a secret lethal
Against half steppin, is fake,
I scope them first
Take the mics possession, with the greatest
And quick wit, equipped, mental lie detection
Ya eyes cross an intersection
You forget to count blessings, all in the mix
Sold your soul for weight in gold bricks
Bitchez wit dikz, chips like chicks
Only talk snares and tits
In the time of revolution, be the to submit
Try to be God, but mental seem unfit
Speakin mathematics, but to kiss a crucifix
Won't admit that style is rip and counterfeited
Contradict, sell their men to bang fit, a moving target
Thrown into the pit, bitchez wit dikz

Chorus

(bitch! scratched and over)