Luyện nghe bài hát Brooklyn Style... Laid Out

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

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

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

Well is it Time to represent for the map
where the peeps smoke blunts and like to wear mad gold
The addict about to explode
From the 1-1-2, the double-3 ill zip

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

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

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

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

gonna be looked at as a black 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 really to see you blew up

But always my man you grew up
In the all your life, in a broken home
Well now
Up in the all your life, keepin' it strong, what

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

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

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

Yo, is Big Scoob, no practice
I'm on niggaz like little 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 for screamin'
My boys in the back, clockin' your jewels, and schemin'
Why did they step to me, I hit 'em, bow,
Knocked out his fronts 'cause the kid was mad

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

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

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

The ill, type of artist
who the har-dest, regard-less
who you know and where from I pull your file
(How?)
style

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