Luyện nghe bài hát Gold

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

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

I'm deep down in the back streets, in the of Medina
About to set off something more deep than a
Under the subway, waiting for the train to noise
So I can blast a nigga and his boys,for
He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales
Like the crash in the Dow Jones
I had a connect to cross-sales, to catch more
Than ho-bitches got control pills
I'm in the park setting up a over blunt fire
Bum nigga on the bench, they had him wired
Peeped my convo, the of my condo
And how I a nigga name to John Doe
And we set up camp, we got vamped
Put the through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart
Snake got on the set like Brandon Lee
out the frame like Pan Am Flight 103
He got swung on, his lungs was
A kingpin just castled with his rook and a pawn
A regular on the block that lookout
For playing predator with a Glock, he have took out

No is rough enough
There is no that's full enough
I can't fold, I gold, I re-up and reload
must be sold to you

Fiends ain't coming fast
There is no cut pure enough
I fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
must be sold to you

It's mandatory that I supply all my troops with firearms
Big apes and spread 'em out like crops on a
To get cream, sometimes they the scene
Like the last on gates, and other niggas
Plant bombs till the smoke the blast becomes thick
And flows through, all knew, he's gun sick
His clicks like high-heeled shoes on parquet floors
Mad sick, stand on hills and wars
foul, shovelling dirt, he's out to hurt
For instance, chop off hands, worth
His idols would lock down airports and
Some import, catching ten percent of the fiends snort
Up in the ski resorts, up in
They move keys and had the making drops on snowmobiles
The was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers
And live and bigger than my nigga
Who promised his moms a mansion with mad
She died and he still put a hundred in her tomb
Open wounds, he hid closed doors
And organized his crime and drug wars

Fiends ain't fast enough
There is no cut pure enough
I fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product be sold to you

No is rough enough
There is no clips that's enough
I can't fold, I gold, I re-up and reload
must be sold to you

There's no cuffs tight enough
There is no niggas fuck with us
I can't fold, I gold, I re-up and reload
must be sold to you