Luyện nghe bài hát Dipset Symphony

I don't give a who's first or who's last
The Dipset is gonna rock this shit out at a drop of a brick,
I don't care what y'all say, I care what y'all do
But better rep Harlem until the god-damned music is through
C, let's Go

All on the honorable, who?
Dipset, back to the grill live at the barbecue
Beefs on, all my kids like a carnival
drawn, all you kids lie, like carpet do

Get up and get ready, what up? The kids
Now that I'm back, the game is fucked, the let me
You front, you stunt, you get heat
Yeah, punks jump up, to get down

Now eight years ago, I played the bench with
Everybody in my park was bent off dimes
Pitchin' packs on the block, to get us some sneakers
yak, Henney, rock, puffin' nickels of reefer

I'm pumpin' on the strip, in the midst of the trade
I'm watching for the blitz in the of the drug raid
For gotta eat, it's like my stomach is touching back
New York's ryder man, for you suckers I'm fuckin'

Now, can I it? Yes, I can
They wanna if I'm G'd up, yes, I am
Look, I over-paid my dues, I almost the news
The kinda hot but the coke came on move

If I was a brick, you wouldn't know to do with me
You'd probably cook me up, get a stem, and start me
Nobody built me, I made and
You don't know how to guns, you'd graze yourself

I was a fiend, before I became a
It was dreams, toss for the latest
Made in cream hey, they kept the kept the powder in the tray
Way it was maybelene

I'm into major stacks, major stats, on that
Cam, 'cuz I'm gonna bring his label plaques
That made of plat, whoa, your jewelery ain't gold
You cop ya jewelery from Hov, all fade to black

When I was nine years old, I realized who was a [Unverified]
At the end I cop a Benz I chop some O's, Forty
lye, optimoz, poppin' mo's, we both shoppin' [Unverified]

Difference is you coppin' clothes, I'll show you how to a rolls
Whether a phantom or a flower, I'm a killa like Joe
I'm from where they the cocky flow
While hoes puck up on my stick, like you trying to hit a goal

I keep a nine in my dresser, lyrical
Keep you under pressure, ain't a better
like a computer, sick shooters
You'll get finned, go to war with six

I bitches with coupes and big hooters
Give head, and piff buddha, pump and sip luha
Ha you hard, you runnin' with state
My niggas is shooters, cock back, and straight shoot ya

Not in my book, never nigga
ask y'all niggas to go till the motherfuckin' beat stops
When I had the right, I had Juelz Santana, Jim Jones
Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40 Cal, Un kasa, forever, nigga
C signin' off, Duke Da God