Luyện nghe bài hát Cuts to The Gut

[intro: buddha monk, (shorty stain)]
Yea, aight, yo
We gon' shut all these mothafuckas up
(for all y'all mothafuckas)
Yea, shit

shit stain of brooklyn zu]
It my fault you came outside without ya strap on
to get yo mack on and niggaz took oath of possession
Should've rolled deep, get by niggaz I creap
And catch ya when ya expect, the hard head
For livin trife, it cuts like a knife
Who choose to dice, who choose to play dice
It's that, this one is a maker
My album took taker, I see ya nigga money and he stashin
I caught that and I had to quick react
And quick, nigga tried to front, he gonna laugh at
This type of style is hardcore, tried to front
When he what? what? move on him,
But i'ma hit him my utmost shit
If ya bring death, then ya can't represent

[chorus: buddha
Deadly is the slang the brooklyn zu
When we comin thru ya town, what ya niggaz do?

masta killa]
Never steal, before ya got that deal
But now ya wouldn't have got it, so now ya chronic
Two heads of drakness comin forth, is many
once or twice, then those heads become pennys
My is more deadly than a shot from yo gun
You see I swung once, but I swung fourth
Just be by yo vision, now yo on the floor
Shit like that, ya can't with plasta
Sent back 'cause I am the dutch masta
Kill or wack-ass styles in the mud
Minds deep in heart, is gold wit yo gut
It's understood, oh he be someone you see
And that someone is me, too deep for you to
>from the day of yo birth till ya in the hurse
There's nothin that that could've been worse
Let me free, atom bomb will be the sequel
all men are cremated equal

[buddha
Never war, back on four tracks
wanna test the bees, ya must be wack
Never more, actual
Comin thru the killa bees attack
My sword has the power to in any hour
Slang cuts ya brains, now ya veins only
Matter of sense, so I inflict the hits
will assist with this mix, breaks mad shit
There's is no crew can test the 1-12 crew
Don't let me go suu!, killa comin thru
Break the war with the great and it with the slicin
I come mad sins, I'm the happy man again
Come into my and I kill like the lizard palm
Can't prevail with the tails, now ya dwells
Into a dimension, no facts, fiction
Who's sent to this train has three on their skin

[dutch masta
Bloaw! hare was good, was dippy
The hippy who always packed the heater
the good life, was praised around, the hood life
He ran with his man from the second
Livin happy, puffin on the staircase
Greedy had a brotha, they both lived with motha
Motha had no fatha, they both held each
And prayed for the otha, saw the seat
Never knew the feat, at nite he would
Was packin heat, the planned to catch a digga
Greedy caught the hiccups, one, two more,
But got away, the eighty-fiver man
Yea, he still away, the clean eddie faked it
No icepick or fist, or tech-nine
He this, caught in the shootout
His man wanted his boot out, he was caught in a
He has his mask, laid out past dawn, now momma's grave

[outro: masta killa, (odb)]
Comin at 'cha from type of angle
Ya know killa bees represent the
Queens, manhatten, all over this
The coast, straight and down
Straight out of
And all everywhere
Medina
(I to hear the bees!)