Luyện nghe bài hát Family Reunion

[Intro - BH - talking]
Uh oh!
It's that time
been too long
It's family
We got to school to the game (IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?)
You know let's talk to 'em (HUH?)
Let's go (IS THIS YOU WANT?)

[Joe Budden - behind Killa BH]
Uh
Mic check, mic
Check, one two, one two

[DJ On - talking]
Y'all already know what it is (y'all already know what time it is)
Family (family reunion)
Ransom (Ransom), (Hitchcock), Fab (Fab), let's go

[Joe Budden - talking DJ On Point]
The is out niggaz, uh
Get 'em boy

1 - Ransom]
Ain't nobody tryin to rap or me
be at they crib with a couple hammers and a black old AV
Black gonna pay me, still get the smack off
Cause I'm touchin more diesel than Shaq old
Boy, you did it, I done it, I get it, I
The that I come with'll separate a rib from a stomach
I'm the boss, I spit it, you love it
Matter fact, I'm a Viking, I need a village to plumage
Yeah, the nigga is here, the city is
You got the throne? Then I think I to sit in your chair
We really get physical here
And the sky's the limit nigga, I put your whole in the air
Baby, so quit playin, 'fore the spray 'em
And have his MIA Nick Saban
His whole shit caved in, my whole cavemen
Hard bodied nigga, my whole shit
You spit if you dead in the ground
In the woods, where head'll be found
And it's good you gettin it now, in the precinct confessin it now
I fuck with the rest of you clowns, faggot

2 - Hitchcock]
High in the silence the storm
Lincoln Park, the
Slang rock on the same that the water on
I be more than gone, run and get order form
Next time I a song, gon' put my daughter on
Cause she than most niggaz
I tote triggers, for you broke niggaz and diggers with no figures
why I palm the heater, for all you non-believers
I'm on your ass like on Rice, I'm Condoleezza
Better con the preacher, you to get on a feature
Better get casket bastard (why?), I'm gon' eat ya
We ain't in the weight class
Your fake ass, couldn't stop a nigga with brake
I'm way past, anything you ever did
I'm better kid and we never a bid
It's to get a cig
In the bing, I'm like Ving Rhames, I pain
I sling 'caine off the wing like I'm James
Y'all who?
When I spit the whole lead, they be callin Code Red, like Dew
'Fore I count to two, you get your back blown (OH!)
Cause your chemic's out of minutes a TracFone (NIGGA!)
Get back homes, I'm on my shit
I mingle, I'm like Pringles, stackin my chips
Clappin my fifth, you the 'test me
out with a "Blade" to get Wesley sniped
So the cops could arrest me, It's not happenin
You ain't ever get on, so stop rappin
(H20) comin this summer, so stop
All heat like Street, your stock crashin
Now the Feds want to read his
Lord mercy, Jesus Christ, I got passion
I'm black and all my niggaz gettin 'feti
We in the Chevy and ready to pop and (what? OH!)

[Chorus - Joe - w/ ad libs]
So whatever you tryin to do little niggaz (niggaz), I already (done)
And since you want to live by it nigga (nigga), then die by the gun (gun)
See whatever you tryin to do little nigga, I've done (done)
So how the fuck you gon' win nigga (nigga), I've already won (won)

[Verse 3 -
Like we always do it,
Yes (yes), go (yes), uh huh
Aiyyo, is the root of all evil I thought
But when I'm broke is when I have the evilest thoughts
That's when the arms come out, like sleeves when it's
With bullets than your favorite wide receiver has caught
And Randy Mossberg, ya Steve Smith & Wesson ya
shoes pop up like Instant Messenger
You've got mail, naw you got shells
And my Mac, you can't use for
I've got that, that will lie flat
And my gat is on leg like tat
I nigga, who you dudes
Some broke niggaz who to get some youtube views
So you want a point blank, boy you're too close
Bail's in pocket, this is Lou Los
I'm pretty more hotties seen me in that four door ridey
Double pipes like a sawed off shotty,

(IS THIS YOU WANT?)

[Verse 4 - Joe
Look, I flow sickly, ridin, old Biggie
with me or lose weight, Nicole Richie
Fuck plat, if I don't reach fame
I treat a nigga's face like the old Simon
out why men try us
Cause we OD on rims and then tires, for that we Len
All it takes is a
He ain't brave, he a
I'll put his family in boxes, meet the Brady
How y'all feel
Should kill yourselves, us Cowboys don't need you, you Parcells
And you ain't got to empty your pockets the K's out
you holdin is mine, you my PayPal
See I get how this guy is a threat
I make his life for a pie to the neck
Ride or die, if you both nigga, to the death
I acappella the whole left of his chest
Not retirin, still got that pension
Tryin to pop the and see the engine missin
Double shotgun, have your men get missin
She got brown eyes and she in mint condition
Oh the cig in the car, you en moi
Take the ratchet go home and just Chris
I a bird like it is, you promise the broad
I one line her (you), you Isiah Thomas the
I could send a clique cartridge at a target
And a ROR on some Jena 6 charges (naw)
Naw, I'll put this thing
I don't even need a whole hairdo to flip 'em, all it take is one finger
Been in the for days, show you how I'm real
home to the truck with the Optimus Prime grill
Handed out crack, got the poppin off
They not sleepin on 'em, the is noddin off
For real, tell me how you a and you Superman (nigga)
I just seen you in the doin the Superman (nigga)
A bunch of clowns
All I need in this is the pound chrome, Huxtable brown stone
Major (I mean), cake by the layers
If dudes is live, I'm the Creative Player
They callin 'em 'Kings' when so so hot
Something's wrong with that picture, must be
I don't promote violence, but sparkin the flame - BLAM
Arms start wavin like the Carlton Banks
When them tools go pop, it whole blocks
Come around your dog and get Cujo shot
These is lame, I try to be an MC with brains
These is MC Brains
Bein nice, rappers is far from bein
I'm on the rooftop recordin, and is bein sniped
It's

[Chorus - w/ ad

[Outro - DJ On - talking - w/ Killa BH ad libs in background]
Shout to the BSC (whole BSC)
Shout to my nigga Dru
SlimeBugz, DJ
The Don (The Don), Dre (Dre Bless)
DJ Baby Dru (DJ Dru)
My nigga