Luyện nghe bài hát Gold

A-yo shorty, yo that's my
Oh, y'all y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold
Yo get caught flinging
Over here, I'm returning 'em, that's my word getting blasted
Anything 220 to 140, that's mine
Y'all to step the fuck off
Y'all niggas ain't for real

Yo, the fiends coming fast enough
There is no cut that's pure
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
Product must be to you

I'm down in the back streets, in the heart of Medina
About to set off something more than a misdemeanor
Under the subway, waiting for the to make noise
So I can a nigga and his boys,for what?
He pushed up on the block and the dope sales drop
Like the in the Dow Jones stock
I had a connect to cross-sales, to catch mill's
Than ho-bitches got birth pills
I'm in the park setting up a deal blunt fire
Bum nigga sleeping on the bench, they had him
Peeped my convo, the of my condo
And how I changed a name to John Doe
And while we set up camp, we got
Put the through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart
Snake got on the set like Brandon Lee
Blown out the frame like Pan Am 103
He got swung on, his lungs was
A kingpin castled with his rook and lost a pawn
A regular on the block played lookout
For playing with a Glock, he should have took out

No is rough enough
is no clip that's full enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
Product be sold to you

Fiends ain't fast enough
There is no cut pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
Product must be to you

It's that I supply all my troops with mega firearms
Big apes and spread 'em out crops on a farm
To get cream, they repaint the scene
Like the last episode on gates, and other
Plant bombs till the smoke from the blast becomes
And flows through, all knew, he's gun sick
His Glock clicks like shoes on parquet floors
Mad sick, on hills and invade wars
Filthy foul, shovelling dirt, he's out to
For instance, chop off hands, worth
His idols would lock down airports and
Some import, catching ten percent of what the fiends
Up in the ski resorts, up in
They move keys and had the skis making on snowmobiles
The plan was to expand, seven figures, release triggers
And live large and bigger than my
Who promised his moms a mansion with mad
She died and he still put a grand in her tomb
Open wounds, he hid behind doors
And organized his crime and drug wars

Fiends ain't fast enough
There is no cut that's pure
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
must be sold to you

No is rough enough
There is no clips that's full
I fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be to you

There's no cuffs that's tight
There is no niggas fuck with us
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
Product be sold to you