Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Killah & Polite)

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

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

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

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

Joe]
uh
Yo Don Carta' harder over nearly everybody
Very rarely you find me the mini-shotti
Just waitin' for Rae to met he cue and
you see 100 Puerto Rican niggaz shootin'
Get down, lay down, we don't play
I don't know you heard but, we don't play around
It's cooked coke, but look, but what the fuck
How you leave the dope game to rappin'?
Already knowin' that ya shit was
hard on the mic when yo' click is ass
All we to do is bring dignity to rap
And you kiddin' me? I'm the epitome of that
Uh, we much better y'all, Terre-error the Squad
My set it when we get in the yard
Whether Marcy or Comstock, triggers 'pon
Straight punch in ya lung and you niggaz drop

x2]

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

x2]

x4]