Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Ghostface & Polite)

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

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

Aiyo Kidd
Layin in the 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 of Goons'll watch
Then four minutes they burgulars
I heard from the grapevine made it
the name up, this gift gotta reign and his game went up
And now he's than ever, Nike jackets and Classics
Go against it and it's vendettas
He run things, gun down Kings, the joint the kid flyin' in
in Africa with two lions
Somethin' like the Prince of a thief, so smack the millions
Came back wrapped it up, too
The is missin' somethin' unique
I put too much to fall on, I rather 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 death and he climbin'

Joe]
uh
Yo Don Carta' bomb over nearly everybody
Very you find me without the mini-shotti
waitin' for Rae to give met he cue and
you see about 100 Puerto niggaz shootin'
Get down, lay down, we don't play
I don't know what you heard but, we don't play
It's cooked coke, but look, but what the happened?
How you the dope game to persue rappin'?
Already knowin' that ya shit was
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 set it when 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)
him, get the gasoline tell Terry to pull the act up
Bring him to Rae warehouse, hang him hooks then skin his ass
As lame as he he ready to cook (yeah)
And he pleadin' for mercy, bleedin' his dome and he thirsty
The first week we him eat shit!
Videotaped his wiz and I his bitch
him watch me on the couch havin' fun with his kids
So hurts more: is it me showin' love to ya fam?
Or you in the box laid the floor?
Or keep you blow torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya on my Scarface walls
Not even Ajax can that, Jack
We need maintenace man shit that kill that greasy blood on contact
you off 'cause I'm pressed for time
Your man and 'em will be to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]