Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Killah & Polite)

[Intro:
Yo up last minute, you know what time it is
Word up, yeah, yeah,
Word up, blip blip blap blap
up?

[Hook x2:
Who don't know? They don't know, betta let 'em
There go, here we go

Aiyo Kidd
in the crib gettin' ill money, those who 8 hours get gig
Got rugby's on and
them niggaz I go against, the money was his
One nasty unit of murderers, all type of Goons'll
Then minutes later they burgulars
I heard from the grapevine made it
Elevate the name up, this gift gotta reign and his went up
And now he's stronger than ever, Nike and Classics
Go against it and it's vendettas
He run things, gun down Kings, check the joint the kid in
in Africa with two lions
Somethin' the Prince of a jewel thief, so smack the millions
Came wrapped it up, too sweet
The game is missin' unique
I put too much to fall back on, I just sleep

x2: Polite]
CHEF! We designin', rhymin' with
CHEF! Ice Water, it was all in the
CHEF! He gave niggaz bricks on consignment
CHEF! To the death and he climbin'

[Fat
uh
Yo Don Carta' bomb harder over nearly
Very rarely you me without the mini-shotti
Just waitin' for Rae to met he cue and
you see about 100 Rican niggaz shootin'
Get down, lay down, we don't play
I know what you heard but, we don't play around
cooked coke, but look, but what the fuck happened?
How you leave the dope game to rappin'?
Already that ya shit was trash
Breathin' on the mic when yo' click is ass
All we tryin' to do is dignity to rap
And you kiddin' me? I'm the epitome of that
Uh, we much better than y'all, Terre-error the
My niggaz set it we get in the yard
Marcy or Comstock, triggers 'pon cock
Straight punch in ya lung and you gon' drop

x2]

[Ghostface
Yo yo yo him in his mouth.. (nah)
Fuck him, get the gasoline tell to pull the act up
Bring him to Rae warehouse, hang him from hooks skin his ass
As as he look he ready to cook (yeah)
And he for mercy, bleedin' from his dome and he thirsty
The first we made him eat shit!
Videotaped his wiz and I his bitch
Made him watch me on the couch havin' fun his kids
So what hurts more: is it me love to ya fam?
Or you in the box laid the floor?
Or you alive blow torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya on my Scarface walls
Not even Ajax can that, Jack
We that maintenace man shit that kill that greasy blood on contact
you off 'cause I'm pressed for time
Your man and 'em will be to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]