Luyện nghe bài hát Daze Of Thunder

Im in that '77
kelly in
Rims wit da nice lips,

roll me
sticky
Got them pressed like I brung them to the cleaners
Fool don't lie, you aint seen him in person
You just heard about them tracks he be
Bout them I be working
Light one up for the
Got a yellow bone bitch rolling weed, serving
You know curly head Amanda, aint she Atlanta
Condo on Peachtree, named Pamela
In love her body
Girl, sweat them little love handles
Thats I put my hands at
I snatch you up to ram you
Ask BFF about what happened when she passed through
by the castle
mind
Say the smoke was and the bed, life magical
Fuck your homegirl good and let that news get to you
Now its like you to too, curiosity
Sprung that to the house with me and I killed it
Suckers hate the jet life because they not to live it
Fool I'm serial, killer fucking serious
this is personal, you can't get no whiff of this
I this shit myself and Im a smoke it til the end of it
I burn it half way down and put a behind my ear
Either way a square saying he got high with me today
Frito-Lay
motorcycle coppers see
What exit I off the interstate so they could follow
But I ain't tripping, I got it money in my pocket
And a clip to my license that confirm that I'm a pilot
Im stumbling across da red carpet, laughing, bottles
You stuck in your hotel suite, waiting on you
You can't get without him, because you got no inner fly-dom
Showed up like the hoes at?
Fool, all at my room
Ad-miring ass
Im a smoke to that I tell you at get in the bed and arch your back
Smooth rap, syrup, music, and Cognac
dope, surround sound, crack, all that
The sun roof top in a
Though not on a Cadillac, because Im a driver
I been all over the map, my at the bottom
hot like summer
, big chrome, skinny
Rust bucket, I spent 1500 on that
Another 30 restoring that motherfucker
40 say You got a bad bitch, better tuck her,

Bay bumping Mac Dre
on her way to get paper
Haters is mad we get high and get rich, slowing down for nothing
Kush the button
Like "What do this do, it, here goes nothing."
man's is something, else
Class by himself, high, off radar,
For the of the jets, until its nothing left
You aint got no gas, go there and siphon some of theirs
Game cold, air, though its fair
No choice for us to play, so you might as well win,
say it ain't everything, but thats that loser talk
So ask them,