Luyện nghe bài hát Daze Of Thunder

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

roll me
steamer
Got bitches pressed like I brung them to the cleaners
Fool lie, you aint never seen him in person
You just heard about tracks he be murking
them hoes I be working
Light one up for the
Got a yellow bitch rolling weed, serving grits
You know head Amanda, aint she from Atlanta
on Peachtree, roommate named Pamela
In love with her
Girl, dont sweat them love handles
where I put my hands at
When I you up to ram you
Ask BFF about what happened when she passed through
Barefoot by the
mind
Say the was amazing and the bed, life magical
your homegirl good and let that news get back to you
Now its like you have to too,
Sprung pussycat to the house with me and I killed it
hate the jet life because they not allowed to live it
Fool I'm dead serial, fucking serious
Nigga this is personal, you can't get no of this
I rolled shit myself and Im a smoke it til the end of it
I burn it way down and put a clip behind my ear
Either way a square aint saying he got high me today
Frito-Lay
motorcycle trying see
What exit I 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 that I'm a pilot
Im stumbling da red carpet, laughing, spilling bottles
You stuck in your hotel suite, waiting on you
You get dressed without him, because you got no inner fly-dom
Showed up Where the hoes at?
Fool, they all at my
that ass
Im a smoke to before I tell you at get in the bed and arch your back
Smooth rap, syrup, chill music, and
dope, surround sound, crack, all that
The sun roof top in a
Though not on a Cadillac, Im a Chevy driver
I been all the map, my home at the bottom
hot like summer
, big chrome, skinny
Rust bucket, I spent 1500 on motherfucker
Another 30 restoring that motherfucker
40 say You got a bad bitch, better her, like

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 of the jets, until its nothing left
You aint got no gas, go over there and siphon of theirs
Game cold, air, though its fair
No choice for us to play, so you as well win, mane
say it ain't everything, but thats that loser talk
So ask them,