Luyện nghe bài hát Family Reunion

[Intro - Killa BH -
Uh oh!
It's that again
It's been too
It's family
We got to school y'all to the game (IS THIS YOU WANT?)
You know what let's to 'em (HUH?)
Let's go (IS WHAT YOU WANT?)

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

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

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

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

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

[Chorus - Joe Budden - w/ ad
So whatever you tryin to do little niggaz (niggaz), I already (done)
And you want to live by it little nigga (nigga), then die by the gun (gun)
See whatever you tryin to do nigga, I've already 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 usually I have the evilest thoughts
That's when the come out, like sleeves when it's short
With more bullets than your favorite 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 use for iChat
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 tryin to get some youtube
So 'less you want a blank, boy you're too close
Bail's in pocket, this is Lou Los
I'm pretty sure hotties seen me in that four door ridey
Double pipes a sawed off shotty, nigga

(IS WHAT YOU WANT?)

4 - Joe Budden]
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 the old Simon game
out why men try us
Cause we OD on rims and then tires, for that we Len
All it is a punch
He brave, he a punk
I'll put his family in boxes, meet the Bunch
How y'all yourselves?
Should kill yourselves, us don't need you, you Bill Parcells
And you ain't got to empty your when the K's out
you holdin is mine, you my PayPal
See I don't get how guy is a threat
I his life inept 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 hood and see the missin
Double shotgun, have your men get missin
She got pretty eyes and she in mint condition
Oh the cig in the car, you en moi
the ratchet go home and just Chris Benoit
I tell a bird it is, you promise the broad
I one line her (you), you Thomas the broad
I could send a clique cartridge at a target
And catch a ROR on Jena 6 charges (naw)
Naw, I'll put thing away
I don't even need a whole hairdo to flip 'em, all it take is one wave
in the bing for days, show you how I'm real
Come to the truck with the Optimus Prime grill
Handed out crack, got the scene off
not sleepin on 'em, the fiends is noddin off
For real, tell me how you a and you Superman (nigga)
I seen you in the club doin the Superman (nigga)
A of clowns homes
All I need in this world is the pound chrome, Huxtable brown
Major paper (I mean), by the layers
If these is live, I'm the Creative Player
callin 'em 'Kings' when they so so hot
Something's wrong with that picture, must be
I don't promote violence, but when sparkin the - BLAM
Arms start wavin like the Banks dance
When them go pop, it move whole blocks
Come around with your dog and get shot
These MC's is lame, I try to be an MC brains
niggaz is MC Brains
Bein nice, is far from bein nice
I'm on the rooftop recordin, and niggaz is bein
like

[Chorus - w/ ad

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