Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Killah & 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 don't know? don't know, betta let 'em know
they go, here we go

Aiyo Kidd
Layin in the crib ill money, those who 8 hours get gig
Got rugby's on and
Attractin' them I go against, the money was his
One nasty unit of murderers, all type of Goons'll
Then minutes later they burgulars
I heard the grapevine mine made it
Elevate the name up, gift gotta reign and his game went up
And now he's than ever, Nike jackets and Classics
Go against it and it's instant
He run things, gun down Kings, check the joint the kid in
Crib in with two lions
Somethin' the Prince of a jewel thief, so smack the millions
Came back it up, too sweet
The is missin' somethin' unique
I put too much to fall back on, I rather sleep

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

Joe]
uh
Yo Don Carta' 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 what you but, we don't play around
It's coke, but look, but what the fuck happened?
How you leave the game to persue rappin'?
Already knowin' that ya was trash
hard on the mic when 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 better than y'all, Terre-error the
My set it when we get in the yard
Marcy or Comstock, triggers 'pon cock
Straight punch in ya lung and you niggaz gon'

x2]

[Ghostface
Yo yo yo him in his mouth.. (nah)
Fuck him, get the gasoline Terry to pull the act up
Bring him to Rae warehouse, hang him from hooks skin his ass
As lame as he he ready to cook (yeah)
And he pleadin' for mercy, bleedin' from his and he thirsty
The week we made him eat shit!
Videotaped his wiz and I fucked his
Made him watch me on the couch fun with his kids
So what hurts more: is it me showin' to ya fam?
Or you in the box laid the floor?
Or keep you alive torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my walls
Not even Ajax can clean that,
We need that man shit that kill that greasy blood on contact
Finish you off 'cause I'm pressed for
Your man and 'em will be to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]