Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Killah & Polite)

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

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

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

x2: Polite]
CHEF! We designin', with Diamonds
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
rarely you find me without the mini-shotti
Just for Rae to give met he cue and
you see 100 Puerto Rican niggaz shootin'
Get down, lay down, we play around
I don't know what you heard but, we don't play
cooked coke, but look, but what the fuck happened?
How you leave the game to persue rappin'?
knowin' that ya shit was trash
Breathin' hard on the mic when yo' is ass
All we tryin' to do is bring to rap
And you kiddin' me? I'm literally the of that
Uh, we much better than y'all, Terre-error the
My niggaz set it when we get in the
Whether or Comstock, triggers 'pon cock
punch in ya lung and you niggaz gon' 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 from then skin his ass
As lame as he look he ready to (yeah)
And he pleadin' for mercy, bleedin' from his dome and he
The first we made him eat shit!
his wiz and I fucked his bitch
Made him watch me on the havin' fun with his kids
So hurts more: is it me showin' love to ya fam?
Or you in the box under the floor?
Or keep you blow torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my walls
Not Ajax can clean that, Jack
We need that maintenace man shit kill that greasy blood on contact
Finish you off 'cause I'm pressed for
Your man and 'em be next to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]