Luyện nghe bài hát City Lights

(talking)

Young wild niggaz livin street on the edge
Not knowin if tomorrow they could up dead.
Yo fuck regular cops get scoped by the feds.
The live in bloodshed (yo), we live in bloodshed.

I know this african cat jet black, grill
Said we can split a a mil if I could get his wife killed.
The feds on him, jake to seven on patrol.
Cops shot on the stroll by his man on parole.
Now he haunted, had a big screen but he it.
Watchin fox, saw his face on america's wanted.
With seeds to feed, stressed out like bricks.
So he got a fix, roll his crackhead click.
Stay twisted, robbin ducks for their bucks.
One day he slipped up, two shells to his gut.
But he
To say the shell wasnt shit.
What you wit?
A 22 kid?
he flipped quick, bust back from four-fifths.
Six fire, hit, one crushed the pelvis.
The went through his wrist.
that for accurate?
The kids for life.
Equipped a permanent limp.
He was ill he was young, tryin to raise his son.
Everytime come he blast the mac one-one.
Spendin two g's on gold to the hoes.
Got money in milwaukee with a on the low.
He played the 5 boros, fly
he couldn't die.
Bags of hydro in da 5, high.
He had a rep for hijackin, extortion, kidnappin.
Shootin up clubs, airport trafficking.
He met his match, fuck around and rob the cat.
For a hundred and eighty g's the God his cream back.
Now a gun battle.
But the son ain't fessin, he his wesson.
These lookin for me i'ma shoot their ass a lesson.
Going all out, kill or be killed, done is done.
These niggaz not stoppin me havin my fun.
He at the tunnel, flexin his whip, dipped.
Had to much so he started to slip.
Oh shit! their go dem niggaz that I
That truck. give a fuck.
They their cream, i'ma let my gat bust.
Let his shells fly, the God got hit he wounded.
The liquor talkin didn't know what he was doin.
He crashed the whip, jumped out ran to
a cab.
"yo me to madison ave"
He did too much to live, and too much to back.
Lay bleedin, why it had to end like that.
Nobodys left, the just me and myself.
In back the back of the cab, son to death.
It's up he was a good nigga...

[word up..the street stories..know I'm sayin.]
[word up, wit the city kids...yeah.]

Young wild niggaz livin street on the edge
Not knowin if tomorrow could turn up dead.
Yo fuck regular niggaz get scoped by the feds.
The ghetto live in (yo), we live in bloodshed.

Young wild niggaz livin street life on the
Not if tomorrow they could turn up dead.
Yo fuck regular cops niggaz get by the feds.
The ghetto live in bloodshed (yo), we in bloodshed.

And we die in bloodshed, up.
We born to the paradise so your life, word up.
Black man move on, up.
Head strong..to the knotty one..men on down.
up.
Gun rule, the bx, bk, know I'm sayin, shaolin.
Word up, queens niggaz, up