Luyện nghe bài hát Daze Of Thunder

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

roll me
steamer
Got them bitches pressed I brung them to the cleaners
Fool don't lie, you never seen him in person
You just heard them tracks he be murking
Bout them I be working
one up for the pimp
Got a yellow bone bitch weed, serving grits
You know curly Amanda, aint she from Atlanta
Condo on Peachtree, roommate named
In love her body
Girl, sweat them little love handles
Thats where I put my at
I snatch you up to ram you
Ask your BFF about what happened when she through
by the castle
mind
Say the was amazing and the bed, life magical
Fuck your homegirl and let that news get back to you
Now its like you have to too,
Sprung that to the house with me and I killed it
Suckers the jet life because they not allowed to live it
Fool I'm dead serial, killer fucking
Nigga this is personal, you can't get no whiff of
I rolled this shit myself and Im a 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
Frito-Lay
motorcycle trying see
What I take off the interstate so they could follow
But I ain't tripping, I got it money in my pocket
And a next to my license that confirm that I'm a pilot
Im across da red carpet, laughing, spilling bottles
You in your 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, they all at my
that ass
Im a smoke to that before I tell you at get in the bed and your back
Smooth rap, syrup, chill music, and
dope, surround sound, crack, all that
The sun top in a diamond
Though not on a Cadillac, Im a Chevy driver
I all over the map, my home at the bottom
hot like summer
, big chrome, rubber
Rust bucket, I spent on that motherfucker
Another 30 racks restoring that
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 and get rich, aint slowing down for nothing
Kush the button
Like "What do 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 left
You aint got no gas, go over and siphon some of theirs
Game cold, frigid air, though its
No choice for us to play, so you might as win, mane
They say it ain't everything, but thats that talk
So ask them,