Luyện nghe bài hát Clientele Kidd

(featuring Fat Joe, Killah & Polite)

[Intro:
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 know, betta let 'em know
There go, here we go

Aiyo Kidd
Layin in the crib gettin' ill money, 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 type of Goons'll
Then four minutes later burgulars
I heard from the grapevine made it
Elevate the name up, this gift gotta and his game went up
And now he's stronger than ever, Nike jackets and
Go against it and instant vendettas
He run things, gun down Kings, check the joint the kid in
Crib in Africa with two
Somethin' like the Prince of a thief, so smack the millions
back wrapped it up, too sweet
The game is missin' somethin'
I put too much to fall back on, I rather just

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

[Fat
uh
Yo Don Carta' bomb harder nearly everybody
Very rarely you find me without the
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 cooked coke, but look, but what the happened?
How you leave the game to persue rappin'?
knowin' that ya shit was trash
Breathin' on the mic when yo' click is ass
All we to do is bring dignity to rap
And you me? I'm literally the epitome of that
Uh, we much than y'all, Terre-error the Squad
My niggaz set it when we get in the
Whether or Comstock, triggers 'pon cock
Straight punch in ya lung and you 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 from hooks then his ass
As as he look he ready to cook (yeah)
And he pleadin' for mercy, bleedin' from his and he thirsty
The first we made him eat shit!
Videotaped his wiz and I his bitch
Made him watch me on the couch fun with his kids
So what hurts more: is it me love to ya fam?
Or you in the box under the floor?
Or keep you alive torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my walls
Not even can clean that, Jack
We that 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]