Luyện nghe bài hát Daze Of Thunder

Im in that '77
green in
Rims wit da lips, Angelinas

roll me
sticky
Got bitches pressed like I brung them to the cleaners
Fool lie, you aint never seen him in person
You just heard about them tracks he be
Bout them I be working
one up for the pimp
Got a yellow bone bitch rolling weed, serving
You know curly Amanda, aint she from Atlanta
Condo on Peachtree, named Pamela
In with her body
Girl, sweat them little love handles
where I put my hands at
When I you up to ram you
Ask your BFF about what happened when she through
by the castle
mind
Say the smoke was and the bed, life magical
Fuck homegirl good and let that news get back to you
Now its like you to too, curiosity
that pussycat to the house with me and I killed it
Suckers the jet life because they not allowed to live it
Fool I'm serial, killer fucking serious
Nigga is personal, you can't get no whiff of this
I rolled shit myself and Im a smoke it til the end of it
I burn it half way down and put a clip my ear
Either way a square saying he got high with me today
chip
motorcycle trying see
What I take off the interstate so they could follow
But I ain't tripping, I got it like in my pocket
And a next to my license that confirm that I'm a pilot
Im stumbling across da red carpet, laughing, bottles
You stuck in hotel suite, waiting on you stylist
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 to that before 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 top in a diamond
Though not on a Cadillac, Im a Chevy 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 her, like

Bay bumping Mac Dre
on her way to get paper
Haters is mad we get high and get rich, aint slowing down for
George 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, frigid air, though its
No choice for us to play, so you might as well win,
They say it ain't everything, but thats loser talk
So ask them,