Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Ghostface & Polite)

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

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

Aiyo Clientele
Layin in the gettin' ill money, those who 8 hours get gig
Got on and 4/5ths
them niggaz I go against, the money was his
One unit of murderers, all type of Goons'll watch
Then four later they burgulars
I from the grapevine mine made it
Elevate the name up, this gift reign and his game went up
And now he's stronger than ever, Nike and Classics
Go against it and it's vendettas
He run things, gun Kings, check the joint the kid flyin' in
in Africa with two lions
Somethin' like the 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

[Chorus x2:
CHEF! We designin', rhymin' with
CHEF! Ice Water, it was all in the
CHEF! He gave y'all niggaz bricks on
CHEF! To the and he Billboard climbin'

[Fat
uh
Yo Don Carta' bomb harder over nearly
Very you find 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 play around
I know what 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 that 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 of that
Uh, we much than y'all, Terre-error the Squad
My niggaz set it when we get in the
Whether Marcy or Comstock, 'pon cock
Straight punch in ya lung and you niggaz drop

x2]

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

x2]

x4]