Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Ghostface & Polite)

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

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

Aiyo Clientele
Layin in the crib ill money, those who 8 hours get gig
Got on and 4/5ths
Attractin' them I go against, the money was his
One unit of murderers, all type of Goons'll watch
four minutes later they burgulars
I heard from the grapevine mine it
the name up, this gift gotta reign and his game went up
And now he's stronger 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 Prince of a thief, so smack the millions
Came back wrapped it up, too
The game is missin' somethin'
I put too much to fall back on, I rather sleep

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 climbin'

[Fat
uh
Yo Don Carta' bomb harder over everybody
Very rarely you me without the mini-shotti
Just waitin' for Rae to met he cue and
you see about 100 Puerto Rican niggaz
Get down, lay down, we don't around
I don't know what you heard but, we play around
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' on the mic when yo' click is ass
All we tryin' to do is bring to rap
And you kiddin' me? I'm the epitome 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
punch in ya lung and you niggaz gon' 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, hang him from then skin his ass
As as he look he ready to cook (yeah)
And he for mercy, bleedin' from his dome and he thirsty
The week we made him eat shit!
Videotaped his wiz and I fucked his
Made him watch me on the havin' fun with his kids
So what hurts more: is it me showin' love to ya
Or you in the box laid the floor?
Or you alive blow torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my Scarface
Not even can clean that, Jack
We need that maintenace man shit that that greasy blood on contact
Finish you off 'cause I'm pressed for
man and 'em will be next to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]