Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Ghostface & Polite)

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

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

Aiyo Kidd
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 nasty unit of murderers, all type of Goons'll
four minutes later they burgulars
I from the grapevine mine made it
Elevate the name up, this gift gotta reign and his game up
And now he's stronger ever, Nike jackets and Classics
Go against it and instant vendettas
He run things, gun down Kings, check the joint the kid in
Crib in with two lions
Somethin' like the Prince of a 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 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 rarely you me without the mini-shotti
waitin' for Rae to give met he cue and
you see 100 Puerto Rican niggaz shootin'
Get down, lay down, we don't play
I don't know you heard but, we don't play around
It's cooked coke, but look, but what the happened?
How you leave the dope to persue rappin'?
Already that ya shit was trash
Breathin' hard on the mic when yo' is ass
All we tryin' to do is bring to rap
And you kiddin' me? I'm literally the epitome of
Uh, we much than y'all, Terre-error the Squad
My niggaz set it we get in the yard
Marcy or Comstock, triggers 'pon cock
Straight punch in ya lung and you niggaz gon'

x2]

Killah]
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 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 week we 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' love to ya
Or you in the box laid under the
Or you alive blow torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my walls
Not even Ajax can that, Jack
We need that maintenace man that kill that greasy blood on contact
Finish you off 'cause I'm for time
Your man and 'em be next to die
Mothafucka!

x2]

x4]