Luyện nghe bài hát Food Clothes and Shelter

Yeah...for all my that's hungry

A nigga need food, ya got to food for ya health
And clothes, gear to keep a for yaself
Son, shelter, a to lay for rest when ya stressed
Over life, 'cause trife and aint no god gon help ya

I feel the winter creepin...vicious as the wind, which is life,
it's deep without a meanin...a trife scene it screams
Niggas fiendin...the dream and some be seemin
like the only way to keep breathin in the slums...but comes
And funds is like dreamin...
my situation no solution...even the young become
Where I'm from is unyielding...Something like three-hundred million
gun wielding black trapped in one building
low ceilings...and no feelings...
cutthroat villains... Dope dealings...and eyed pavilions
Sunken faces...and traces...
My slave for the basics...the powerless devoured in the matrix
Of politics, pimps and pipes...
From gun blast and off blunt ash...the cash heist
The fast life... where the have-nots
Stick and grab plots...toting tools, last by some jewels
the world, we stay stuck in capsules...shackled
And crackas got homes like
I figure the only way nigga got to go is wild
Plottin for liberation...stockin cap style

x2]

I was born in the hearin gun clap from thunder
See my peers...catchin years by the number
I wake up hunger...try to lift my stress that I'm under
How I made it far makes me wonder
You in a for ya life, for basic human rights
afford the boomin prices...it's economic crisis
Life is a sacrifice, I'm to my last bag of rice
They forcin us to live laboratory mice
Like fuckin mice that's right
You wear the camaflouge...but do u to live the soldiers life
I told u this is a war not a play fight
Taught to be a slave from the womb to the
Some of us even share the views of the Kaina
Tryna be white...but gon lose in this game of life
So dead that! I tie my dread and scheme...
Put a star on my red and green...

x2]

What do power mean, our
seem to think it means sour
'cause our dreams got us fiendin for the son
And huey p said political come from the barrel of the gun
What do mean, I believe in thieving
And smoking weed, 'cause everything for a reason
I hope my seed grow up and get even, open season
And if you poor and black, you the reason...yeah