Luyện nghe bài hát Daze Of Thunder

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

roll me
sticky
Got them bitches pressed I brung them to the cleaners
Fool don't lie, you aint never him in person
You heard about them tracks he be murking
Bout them I be working
Light one up for the
Got a yellow bone rolling weed, serving grits
You curly head Amanda, aint she from Atlanta
Condo on Peachtree, roommate Pamela
In love with her
Girl, dont sweat them little handles
where I put my hands at
When I you up to ram you
Ask your BFF about what happened when she passed
Barefoot by the
mind
Say the smoke was amazing and the bed, life
Fuck your homegirl good and let news get back to you
Now its like you have to too,
Sprung that pussycat to the house with me and I it
hate the jet life because they not allowed to live it
Fool I'm dead serial, fucking serious
Nigga 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 and put a clip behind my ear
Either way a square aint he got high with me today
chip
motorcycle trying see
exit I take off the interstate so they could follow
But I ain't tripping, I got it like money in my
And a clip next to my license that confirm I'm a pilot
Im stumbling da red carpet, laughing, spilling bottles
You stuck in hotel suite, waiting on you stylist
You can't get dressed him, because you got no inner fly-dom
Showed up like Where the at?
Fool, all at my room
that ass
Im a smoke to that before I you at get in the bed and arch your back
Smooth rap, syrup, music, and Cognac
Audio dope, surround sound, crack, all
The sun roof top in a
Though not on a Cadillac, because Im a driver
I been all over the map, my home at the
hot like summer
, big chrome, skinny
Rust bucket, I spent on that motherfucker
30 racks restoring that motherfucker
40 say You got a bad bitch, better tuck her,

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