Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Ghostface & Polite)

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

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

Aiyo Clientele
Layin in the crib gettin' ill money, those who 8 get gig
Got on and 4/5ths
them niggaz I go against, the money was his
One nasty of murderers, all type of Goons'll watch
four minutes later they burgulars
I heard from the grapevine mine it
Elevate the name up, this gift gotta reign and his went up
And now he's than ever, Nike jackets and Classics
Go against it and instant vendettas
He run things, gun down Kings, the joint the kid flyin' in
Crib in Africa with two
like the Prince of a jewel thief, so smack the millions
Came back wrapped it up, too
The game is missin' unique
I put too to fall back on, I rather just sleep

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

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

x2]

[Ghostface
Yo yo yo him in his mouth.. (nah)
Fuck him, get the tell Terry to pull the act up
him to Rae warehouse, hang him from hooks then 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 week we him eat shit!
his wiz and I fucked his bitch
Made him watch me on the couch havin' fun his kids
So what hurts more: is it me showin' love to ya
Or you in the box laid under the
Or keep you alive torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my walls
Not Ajax can clean that, Jack
We need that maintenace man shit that kill greasy blood on contact
you off 'cause I'm pressed for time
Your man and 'em will be to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]