Luyện nghe bài hát Blah Blah Blah

Get yourself together now it's hit time
Your known as the hit
Breaker breakers, party
They'll make your back crack, your liver
For all you cats, we're gonna put more in your hips
More cut in your strut, more glide in stride
If you don't dig that you gotta hole in soul
If you don't dig mess, you came to the wrong address
Because singing might be and clear

[Brother
Ayo, the music 'em jump back
Fuck that, how y'all gonna come tracks, fat, without lettin Ali touch that?
Gun whack, his lips
You're not serious, I got few equals and no superiors (so he is)
A veteran, an ego reckon
I it up another notch to keep the people guessin
Y'all ain't fuckin with the ox so put your session
Double teamin for the evening, so you the lessons

we go
Lookin at me like they me
bout as far as they drunk ass can throw me
Do it, somebody's bound to it, no breakage
Never that, we keep it basic breakfast
So taste it, the are subtle
So up to Sluggo, even try to decipher the puzzle
But up though
(Fuck that, sucka back)
I hold the game Notre Dame, I know your dame
(We call her back), Ali run that

Ali]
From lips to gods ears
We mind yall bastards and cross hairs
Applying our thug till y'all scared
stop till your drunk ass hits the back stairs (ohh yeah)

Fuck that, back, yo, what's that
off her nuts, wait, why she got a nut sack?
You fuckin rappers are
From the retail to the e-mail, the feet cause you need help

x 2
Y'all need to watch and observe and follow
If we open for y'all still our show
I hear the same bullshit I go
Like Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah

Ali] (Slug)
(Rappers to)
ah yeah they get their shits
I throw a roll of quarters and and then I get learned
(Yo I don't care were you represent son, your chicks?)
We'll take her out for breakfast if you want to let lips run

Listen, I know your mission, some type of magician that likes to go
On the mic with air tight precision, the leaders in keeping
when you ain't even keeping the that the DJ is spinnin
Calm little camper, I've got the answers
You should fuck exotic
You grow a pair of tits and some antlers
It doesn't matter, turn it up, what the fuck you that amp's for?

[Brother
I write poems, rhymes, write my name in the snow
And I could use all of that to the frame of your ho
And I but instead I'll just pay the waiter and go
But if I didn't a wife, yo, your kids'd be albinos
Your is like a stick in the grass
Mean mugs and tree hugs, I'll go on it
I wear my toilet paper so that can kiss my ass
with your out and write a love song about it

Write that shit inside of your book full of little scribbles
The love comes in vomit, the money in dribbles
The missiles, self taught
communication, mutilation, pictures of your sister naked

Ali]
Ha ha, You to drunk to walk the stairs
And now you're standing here on my pubic hairs
Telling me your name is if you think the cares

If you keep your gums we can fucking take it there

(Brother Ali)
Yo Make a room of bump rocks stop and do the walk
(Rest those shots from a cop, and ask him who's pops)
Who's you daddy, Fuck that, back and act happy
(Sing my fucking chorus before I you in the face)

x 2