Luyện nghe bài hát Cuts to The Gut

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

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

buddha monk]
Deadly is the slang from the zu
When we comin thru ya town, what ya niggaz do?

[dutch killa]
carried steal, before ya got that deal
But now ya wouldn't got it, so now ya puffin chronic
Two heads of drakness comin forth, is many
Blind once or twice, then those become pennys
My swing is deadly than a shot from yo gun
You see I swung once, but really I swung
Just be by yo vision, now yo on the floor
Shit like that, ya face with plasta
Sent niggaz back I am the dutch masta
or pylon wack-ass styles in the mud
Minds deep in heart, this is wit yo gut
It's understood, oh he be you can't see
And someone is me, too deep for you to believe
>from the day of yo birth ya ride in the hurse
There's nothin that happens could've been worse
Let me free, atom bomb will be the sequel
Which all men are cremated

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

[dutch masta
Bloaw! little was good, was dippy
The wild-ass hippy who packed the heater
Lived the life, was praised around, the hood life
He ran with his man from the floor
Livin happy, puffin on the wall
Greedy had a younger brotha, they both with motha
had no fatha, they both held each otha
And prayed for the otha, saw the seat
knew the feat, at nite he would creap
Was still packin heat, the to catch a digga
caught the hiccups, one, two more, three
But got away, the eighty-fiver man
Yea, he strayed away, the clean eddie faked it
No or fist, glock or tech-nine
He contemplated this, caught in the
His man his boot out, he was caught in a trance
He has his mask, laid out past dawn, now grave missed

[outro: dutch killa, (odb)]
at 'cha from every type of angle
Ya know killa bees the bronx
Queens, manhatten, all over this
The east coast, and down
out of clark's
And all everywhere
Medina
(I to hear the bees!)