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 know, betta let 'em know
There they go, we go

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

Joe]
uh
Yo Don bomb harder over nearly everybody
Very rarely you find me the mini-shotti
Just for Rae to give met he cue and
you see about 100 Puerto niggaz shootin'
Get down, lay down, we don't around
I don't know you heard but, we don't play around
It's cooked coke, but look, but the fuck happened?
How you leave the dope game to persue
Already knowin' that ya was trash
Breathin' hard on the mic yo' click 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, the Squad
My niggaz set it we get in the yard
Whether Marcy or Comstock, triggers cock
Straight in ya lung and you niggaz 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 hooks then skin his ass
As as he look he ready to cook (yeah)
And he pleadin' for mercy, from his dome and he thirsty
The first we made 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 showin' love to ya
Or you in the box laid under the
Or keep you alive blow ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my Scarface
Not even can clean that, Jack
We need that maintenace man shit that kill that greasy blood on
you off 'cause I'm pressed for time
Your man and 'em be next to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]