Luyện nghe bài hát Cuts to The Gut

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

[shorty shit of brooklyn zu]
It wasn't my fault you came outside ya strap on
Tryin to get yo mack on and took oath of possession
rolled deep, get crooked by niggaz I creap
And ya when ya least expect, the hard head
For those livin trife, it like a knife
Who choose to play dice, who to play dice
It's that, this one is a money
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, nigga to front
When he what? what? move on him,
But i'ma hit him with my shit
If ya can't bring death, ya can't represent

[chorus: buddha
is the slang from 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 have got it, so now ya puffin chronic
Two heads of comin forth, there is many
Blind once or twice, then heads become pennys
My swing is more deadly than a from yo gun
You see I swung once, but really I swung
be by yo vision, now yo shit's on the floor
Shit like that, ya can't with plasta
Sent niggaz back 'cause I am the masta
Kill or pylon styles in the mud
Minds deep in heart, is gold wit yo gut
It's understood, oh he be you can't see
And that someone is me, too for you to believe
the day of yo birth till ya ride in the hurse
There's nothin happens that could've been worse
Let me free, atom bomb be the final sequel
Which all men are cremated

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

[dutch masta
Bloaw! hare was good, was dippy
The wild-ass hippy who always packed the
Lived the good life, was praised around, the life
He ran with his man from the floor
Livin happy, puffin on the staircase
Greedy had a younger brotha, they both lived motha
had no fatha, they both held each otha
And prayed for the otha, greedy saw the
Never knew the feat, at nite he would
Was still packin heat, the planned to a digga
caught the hiccups, one, two more, three
But nosey got away, the man
Yea, he still strayed away, the clean faked it
No or fist, glock or tech-nine
He contemplated this, caught in the
His man wanted his boot out, he was caught in a
He has his mask, laid out past dawn, now momma's missed

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