Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Ghostface & Polite)

Raekwon]
Yo straight up last minute, you know what it is
up, yeah, yeah, yeah
Word up, blip blip blap blap
up?

[Hook x2:
Who know? They don't know, betta let 'em know
they 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 watch
four minutes later they burgulars
I heard from the grapevine made it
Elevate the name up, gift gotta reign and his game went up
And now he's stronger than ever, Nike and Classics
Go against it and it's instant
He run things, gun down Kings, the joint the kid flyin' in
Crib in Africa with two
Somethin' like the Prince of a jewel thief, so smack the
Came back wrapped it up, too
The is missin' somethin' unique
I put too much to fall back on, I rather just

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

[Fat
uh
Yo Don Carta' bomb harder nearly everybody
Very rarely you find me without the
waitin' for Rae to give met he cue and
you see 100 Puerto Rican niggaz shootin'
Get down, lay down, we don't around
I don't know what you but, we don't play around
It's cooked coke, but look, but what the happened?
How you leave the dope game to persue
knowin' 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 me? I'm literally the epitome of that
Uh, we much better than y'all, the Squad
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)
Fuck him, get the gasoline tell Terry to the act up
Bring him to Rae warehouse, hang him from hooks then 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 watch me on the havin' fun with his kids
So what hurts is it me showin' love to ya fam?
Or you in the box under the floor?
Or keep you blow 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
you off 'cause I'm pressed for time
Your man and 'em be next to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]