Luyện nghe bài hát Brooklyn Style... Laid Out

Come on y'all and feel the
Get on down and your move
Welcome to the
Brooklyn style, laid out this

Come on y'all and the groove
Get on down and your move
Welcome to the
style, laid out like this

I kicks the flavor good, to the neighborhood
Where I from, and that's the place of Brooklyn
the grimies are born and bred
And are like eyeballs, two to the head

Well is it Brownsville? to represent for the map
where the peeps smoke and like to wear mad gold caps
The addict about to explode
From the 1-1-2, the ill zip code

Parlayin' on the corner, 40's shootin' Cee-Lo
a Brooklyn thing, aight? You know our steelo
And for those who just don't how it go
Play a substitute teacher and act like you know

So yo, who wanna set it? You better kick best G
You and your whole couldn't test me
I for the fo' main
And if you're not a booty bandit, niggaz can't hang

on y'all and feel the groove
Get on down and make move
Welcome to the
Brooklyn style, out like this

Now, let's get straight to the point
I represent for this Brooklyn
Baby pah, we're takin' it to
Makin' a few dollars don't mean you gotta
Where you come and try to be someone
That you're really not and front with you got

You're gonna be looked at as a man still so keep it real
What of mission can I say you on?
you musta done changed to some Grey Poupon, heh
I'm happy to see you blew up

But remember my man you grew up
In the PJ's all life, in a broken home
alright now
Up in the all your life, keepin' it strong, what

I be the Louis Ave livin', live long lover
Bonafied black brother, to the mother
Skilled at at hand with those who made
The man with and always stayed a fan

My dialectic style is
In ways you can't imagine rap bein'
Funk'll slam a doper jam, pops
I'm takin like taxes with Uncle Sam
So out the Asiatic type of flow
Like water in the Nile, but it's style

Come on and feel the groove
Get on down and your move
to the funkiest
Brooklyn style, out like this

Yo, is Big Scoob, no practice
I'm flippin' on niggaz like kids on that mattress
You my style, Baby Pah from the PJ's
My lyrics so dope, they too fat for local

So hear me out, no doubt, no need for
My boys in the back, clockin' your jewels, and they
Why did they to me, I hit 'em, bow, bu-dow
Knocked out his fronts the kid was mad fragile

No need for beef chief I'm rollin' mad
So up your teeth, I got him shakin' like a leaf
Not tryin' to scare you, I just aware you
I bet you won't even at my face
(What, what, what)
I you

Yo nigga please, yo I'm with these
you're guardin' your grill
I'll be beatin' up kidneys
Me and my boys the fat tec 9's
with my joint back, in case a punk tried to take mines

Where I'm from there's no need for
We and squeeze, now where's the doctor for this patient?
He's drippin' blood and now he's to his last breath
But he won't make it, cause he knows that my is def

The ill, type of Brooklyn
who rocks the har-dest,
who you know and where you're I pull your file
(How?)
style

Come on y'all and the groove
Get on down and your move
to the funkiest
Brooklyn style, out like this